


Someone Like You

by Tuesdayschildd



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, College, F/M, Friends to Lovers, New York City, Roommates, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18476767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuesdayschildd/pseuds/Tuesdayschildd
Summary: Despite the Beastie Boys in his eardrums and the beat pulsing in his chest, he can’t get the noises out of his head. Her noises. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look her in the face again without hearing them. This is Veronica. His no nonsense, never a hair out of place, prim and proper roommate. There was a different tone to her voice last night, one he hasn’t ever heard before. The inflection in her words was guttural and earthy, downright filthy, filtering into his dreams like smoke creeping around the cracks of a door. If he stops and thinks about it, he can picture her...





	1. How have you always been right here?

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my #1 Varchie Ficathon contribution — College roommates AU.
> 
> Probable rating change in the next chapter.

** Chapter 1 **

_how could I tell you,_

_when I didn’t know myself?_

_. . . . ._

 

 

The giggling is nauseating, and adding a second feather pillow over her head does little to nothing to drown out the putrid noise coming through the thin wall. They’ve been going at it for hours, and Veronica’s eight a.m. civics midterm is steadily approaching whilst her roommate and his flavor of the week continue their boisterous activities at the ungodly hour of three a.m. on a Tuesday.

 

This had never happened with Betty, the perfect roommate in all ways- except when she bailed on their _B &V College Adventure_ to move in with Jughead and boot out his own roommate. It was a joke from Jughead at first that the two share an apartment- Veronica having the newly empty second bedroom and Archie now looking for a vacancy. But after consideration, it seemed that it would work out quite nicely for the both of them in the short term. They were friends by proxy of their best friends dating, and he was clean and kind. And she was _always_ in need of a tall person around the apartment. It was their senior year at NYU, and neither had plans to stay put come graduation next spring; a quick fix to a temporary problem seemed absolutely reasonable.

 

Living with Archie had been easy at first, _enjoyable_ even. She’d come home to him serenading the living room and her cat more often than not, strumming his guitar and scribbling down chords on scraps of paper. He picked up after himself and took the garbage out. Every Wednesday, he’d arrive home balancing her favorite almond milk latte on top of his own coffee from the shop around the corner on his way back from campus. Thursday nights when she got back from her weekly manicure, he’d order pizza from Joe’s- pineapple on half for her and sausage on the other for him. _Pineapple isn’t a pizza topping, Ronnie_ , but he’d always end up eating some of hers anyway. He supported her take-out habit, not much better of a cook than she was and he always made sure to eat all the leftovers in the fridge, because she hated wasting food- but she also hated eating the same thing for dinner two days in a row. He’d even watch the Bachelor with her, interjecting his hilarious opinions during commercials, and he would play her his new music whenever he got the chance. He had brought with him his little Jack Russell terrier, Bobby, whom Veronica took to instantly, the little ball of energy lighting up the apartment. Once her cat Spike took to the additional guest, they were quite the little foursome.

 

Archie had slipped into the absence Betty left remarkably easy. And unlike Betty, he didn’t complain about her hair all over the floor in the bathroom. He was nearly another perfect roommate.

 

Until one day, he wasn’t.

 

He broke up with his long distance girlfriend, Val, a few weeks after moving in. Veronica wasn’t privy to the details and didn’t want to pry, but he did seem remarkably happier after it it ended. So happy in fact that he was back out on the market and definitely not lacking in female attention, that he brought in the cavalry in Val’s absence.

 

And then Veronica discovered just how much of a man whore her roommate really is.

 

To give Archie some credit, it’s only been a handful of different women on rotation moaning through their shared walls since his split. Lisa has an obnoxious squeal. Mea likes to talk dirty. Jada at least attempts to be considerate, and even goes so far as to shush him. But Victoria is the worst with these giggle fits. Veronica can’t understand what could be _that_ funny about sex, particularly after four hours of it.

 

Little Bobby has zero problems filtering out the noise, snoozing away at the end of her bed, while she lies awake memorizing the lines in the ceiling. And Veronica has a sneaking suspicion that Spike is actually _in_ Archie’s room during these shenanigans, because her cat is apparently a voyeur.

 

At seven a.m., when Veronica is baggy eyed and sitting at the kitchen island sipping a triple latte and scanning over her civics notes for the last time, she watches as Archie’s booty call slinks out the front door in yesterday’s clothes without a glance in her direction. He follows barefoot down the hall shortly after in a rumpled T-shirt and sweatpants, having the audacity to look well rested.

  
“Good morning,” he greets her, reaching for a box of Captain Crunch and a large bowl. “It’s the bachelor finale tomorrow night, right? Are you excited?”

 

He leaves the box and milk on the counter when he’s finished with them and scoots into the stool next to her, reaching down to scratch Bobby’s head and toss him a few pieces of cereal he snuck in his hand. When he’s chewing his first bite, he finally looks up at her, noticing her quietly staring back at him, blankly. “What?” He asks after swallowing, blinking in confusion. He has bits of sleep in his eyes and endearing pillows lines running across his freckled cheeks.

 

 _Of course_ he remembered.

 

“Bobby still needs to be taken out,” she says after a beat. She lets the noise issue slide again, because during the daytime he’s still her wonderful roommate Archie.

 

 

———-

 

 

 

 

 

Elmer Holmes Bobst Library is unusually empty for midterm week, and Veronica has no trouble securing a desk in one her favorite sections of the fourth floor. The smell of aged paper and quiet hum in the walls is relaxing while she works. Her morning exam went well enough despite the circumstances of last night, but she’s been running on fumes and espresso since then, empty venti cups littering the table around her laptop while she puts the finishing touches on her proposal for her business class. She’s just about ready to call it a day, eyeing the late hour, dreaming of her big fluffy bed and her cooling eye mask, when a familiar pastry bag is dangled in front of her face. Slipping off her glasses, she watches as the hand holding it drops it down onto her keyboard with a thunk.

 

“You look hungry.” The voice is low and sweet behind her, less likely because they’re in the library and more so because that’s just the way he is.

 

“For Magnolia cupcakes? Always,” she smiles, turning to look up at Chuck Clayton.

 

Chuck, her never really on, usually more off, friend with a _whole lot_ of benefits, knew the way to get her attention often called for baked goods and a tight T-shirt.

 

“It’s midterm week, Charles,” she arches an eyebrow, folding her glasses and slipping them into their case in her bag.

 

“Exactly,” he grins, all white teeth and dimples, turning the chair next to her around to straddle it. “You look like you could use a little stress relief.”

 

“Understatement of the year,” she rolls her eyes as she curiously peeks into the Magnolia bag while waiting for her laptop to shut down. “Caramel? You shouldn’t have.”

 

“What do you say? You, me, that cupcake, maybe a pizza if you’re feeling frisky?” He’s still smiling, watching her pack up her things.

 

Part of her, _most_ of her, wants to just go home, and crawl straight into bed with Spike and Bobby and catch up on the lost eight hours of sleep from last night. But a small part of her, a very loud tiny part, wants to say _screw it, you deserve a caramel cupcake and a good fuck_ — have needed one for a while. And it’s because that larger part of her is so very sleep deprived and vulnerable to the effects of sugar and a tall, dark, and handsome man that she decides to bring him home.

 

Fooling around with Chuck is easy and no-nonsense. There are no confused feelings, no misrepresented actions, just two young and fit 22-year-olds with an itch to scratch. The last time she had fell into bed with him had been at the beginning of the semester, after which her classes kept most of her attention and she wasn’t bothered enough to find him on the weekends. But the relentless sexapades of her roommate, in addition to annoying her, also remind her that she’s in a dry spell. And there is a very willing, very attractive, very good lay available to water her parched gardens.

 

If she gets the added bonus of maybe keeping her roommate up tonight instead of vice versa, well that’s only a cherry on top of a well deserved dark chocolate sundae.

 

 

 

————

 

 

 

 

Archie’s never more grateful for the location of his new home than on days like today, when instead of having to wait for the train to head all the way back to Astoria after a full day of classes, he can just make the quick jog a few blocks from campus in a matter of minutes.

 

The 60 inch plasma TV in the living room also has something to do with it. As he’s walking in, he’s hoping Veronica isn’t watching something on Netflix so he can get a quick game of Fortnite in on the big screen before he heads to bed.

 

He picks up a ridiculously happy barking Bobby who greets him at the door tail wagging, and is happy to find the living room unoccupied, dark and quiet. He makes the quick trip back down to street level to let his dog do his business before locking the door for the night and hanging his jacket in the hall closet.

 

“Did you have a good day with Spike, Bobby? What did you two get up to?” He directs at the dog as he refreshes his water bowl in the kitchen and scoops him a bit of kibble. “Meet up with any ladies on the fire escape?” Predictably, Bobby ignores him as soon the steel bowl hits the hardwood floor and Archie rubs his furry head affectionately, making sure the fat cat isn’t around to steal any of Bobby’s dinner, before plopping down on the couch after turning on his PlayStation.

 

As the game system starts up, he hears his roommate’s muffled voice from the back of the apartment, and assumes she’s on the phone- probably the reason why she shut the dog out of her room.

 

But the tone of her voice is a little off, and he lowers the volume of the intro music of his game, curiously.

 

_“Yes, god yes!”_

 

The goosebumps spread over his skin quickly as he freezes.

 

Has it finally happened?

 

Has he finally caught his roommate masturbating?

 

It’s one of the first things his guy friends joked about when they found out he was moving in with a girl. Reggie had slapped him on the back, saying _Veronica_ fricken _Lodge? Are you shitting me?_

 

Sure, his roommate is beautiful — he has eyes. Archie had even flirted with her the first few times he met her — but she is all _Upper East Side_ and he’s more like the _Bronx_ , and they would never work in a million years. He gave up after seeing who she usually hung around with, and most definitely was not going to cross that line with his roommate. But Reggie liked to remind him every chance he got that he was living with a girl — a _hot_ girl — and _Why haven’t you caught her yet, Andrews?_

 

_“Fuck, yes!  Right there. Don’t stop!”_

 

And then he hears a second voice, a deeper one grunting “ _Veronica_ ”.

 

His blood turns chilly, the icy shock pouring over him from the top of his head.

 

She’s not alone.

_This_ hasn’t happened yet either. He’s never stopped to think why not, but since he’s moved in weeks ago, she hasn’t brought anyone home that he knows of. He’s embarrassed, he thinks, as he feels his cheeks starting to redden. And still frozen, unable to move to do anything to block out the noises filtering down the hallway, and it feels like the first time he stumbled upon Cinemax in the middle of the night as a kid, unable to tear his eyes away from mesmerizing figures on the screen.

 

 _“Fuck. Harder, harder, harder..._ ”

 

Suddenly, Spike jumps up into his lap and startles him with the abruptness, causing him to press down on the volume button. The music from his game blares out of the speakers at a deafening level, and the cat freaks with the noise, digging his razor sharp claws into Archie’s jeans and breaking skin. Bobby starts barking, the shrill pierce of the noise breaking through the thumping bass, and Archie drops the remote. He’s fumbling for it, trying to push off the startled cat whose nails are making it difficult to do so, wincing at the pain, while trying to shush the dog, and he finally finds the button to lower the sound to a reasonable level.

 

He’s _afraid_. Afraid she’s going to come down the hall and realize he heard her, worse yet that he was purposefully _listening_.  He spends the first five minutes of his game doing god awful, simultaneously mortified yet trying to act naturally in case she does emerge.

 

She doesn’t.

 

Spike and Bobby eventually settle into the deep couch next to him while he plays, sitting guard. He waits a good hour, anxiously sitting at the edge of the couch before he chances turning the system off to make sure nothing is still going on. When the silence fills the room, he lets out the anxious breath he had been holding, and quietly heads into his room, getting ready for bed quickly. He’s relieved that he didn’t have to face her but still worries about what she might say to him tomorrow.

 

The temporary relief is short lived. He’s just slipping off to sleep when he hears her again, much clearer now through their shared, apparently very thin, wall.

 

“ _Oh, god…. yes_!”

 

The icy feeling returns to his veins, but instead of freezing him, he reaches out quickly to find his noise cancelling headphones on the bedside table. There’s a tight feeling in his stomach, one he doesn’t have a name for, as he slips them over his ears and exhales slowly, letting the slight static fill his head instead of her moans.

 

 

 

———-

 

 

 

 

The sun barely peeks through the blinds when Archie ties up his running shoes, little bits of light lining the carpet. He was awake before it had even thought about rising, throwing a tiny fuzzy ball across the room for Spike, who brought it back to him slowly each time and dropped it on his chest like some weird game of cat fetch. As soon as it was reasonable to do so, he had gotten up and put on a pair of jogging shorts and a sweatshirt, and hesitantly took off his bulky headphones.

 

Persuading Bobby out of his warm little dog bed so early is a difficult task until he shakes the leash — and then like a shot of adrenaline, the pup is at the door and ready to go.

 

Archie never runs. But this morning, he feels restless and admittedly uneasy about the unspeakable things that could still be happening inside his apparently too-small apartment and needs to clear his head a bit. It’s cold outside, the wind nipping at his ears, and his legs are freezing, but Bobby doesn’t seem to mind, keeping a steady pace with him on the nearly empty sidewalks until they get to Washington Square Park. Once on the trail, he’s turning up the music in his earbuds, pushing through the temperature and breathing hard through his nose, speeding up as much as he feels comfortable totting along his furry companion.

 

Despite the Beastie Boys in his eardrums and the beat pulsing in his chest, he can’t get the noises out of his head. _Her_ noises. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look her in the face again without hearing them. This is _Veronica_. His no nonsense, never a hair out of place, prim and proper roommate. There was a different tone to her voice last night, one he hasn’t ever heard before. The inflection in her words was guttural and earthy, downright filthy, filtering into his dreams like smoke creeping around the cracks of a door. If he stops and thinks about it, he can picture her...

 

 _No_. He needs more distraction.

 

He gets a random idea, stopping abruptly and causing Bobby to start running in circles around him barking, wanting to continue to burn off energy. He pulls his phone out of his pocket with chilly fingers, sees it almost seven a.m. and reasonable enough to text, and sends one to the first name listed in his string of messages.

 

_Are you busy tonight? I was thinking I could make us dinner?_

He’s got an exam at ten, so he shoots Reggie a text to see if he wants to hit the gym up afterwards, too. He thinks he could get some groceries and maybe some wine, try his hand at pasta or something. He’ll google a recipe. It can’t be too hard.

 

He feels a little better, and let’s Bobby hype him up a bit while he jumps in place before he starts jogging again, because he certainly isn’t walking back into that apartment until he absolutely needs to.

 

When he can’t run anymore because his legs are numb, a solid hour and a half have stumbled by and his dog starts looking at him like he’s a moron. His stomach won’t stop growling on the slower walk back to the apartment and he has to carry Bobby the last block because the little dog has tired out completely. He’s muttering a silent prayer when the elevator reaches his floor that the _house guest_ has departed.

 

He hasn’t.

 

“Archibald! There you are. Come, have some breakfast. Charles made plenty,” Veronica is perched on a stool, motioning to the plates of eggs, bacon, and pancakes littered across the kitchen island. She’s got her silky green pajamas on, and her hair piled up on her head with her glasses balanced on the end of her nose, but he refuses to make eye contact with her to notice anything more.

 

“We had bacon?” It’s the only thing he can think to say as he puts Bobby down and takes it all in.

 

“Chuck ran down to the store,” Veronica explains, clutching a mug of coffee. “Chuck, this is my roommate Archie. Archie, Chuck.” She motions back and forth between them with her free hand.

 

“Nice to meet you, man,” Chuck stands and reaches across the island, and Archie squeezes his hand in his own a bit harder than normal handshake etiquette allows, sizing the guy up. Chuck seems unfazed, digging back into his breakfast.

 

“What’s wrong with Bobby?” Veronica asks, oblivious to the testosterone contest Archie is taking part in himself, noticing the usually hyper friendly dog has collapsed in exhaustion in his bed by the couch.

 

“He didn’t sleep well last night,” Archie explains curtly. “I’m gunna hit the shower, I have an exam at ten. Nice to meet you, Chuck.”

 

As he retreats down the hallway hastily, he misses the smug look on Veronica’s face as she takes a sip of coffee.

 

 

______

 

 

 

 

 

He manages to forget the last twelve hours during the rest of the morning after his exam, pumping iron with Reggie at the gym well into the afternoon. Working out is his escape from everything. While his blood is thrumming and the music is blaring in his ears, he can focus on the pull of his muscles instead of whatever else is floating around in his head.

 

Afterward when Reggie asks him to grab a beer with him as they change in the locker room, Archie declines. “Can’t. I’m making dinner tonight.” He runs a towel over his head, mentally going over a list of things he might need. “Have you ever made pasta before?”

 

“Making dinner for who?” Reggie asks, pulling a new T-shirt over his head. “How have you never made pasta before?”

 

Archie scratches his neck, and realizes he can’t remember who he asked to come over. “A girl,” he responds vaguely. “My mom always made dinner growing up. I only know how to microwave.” He digs his phone out of the pocket of his discarded shorts on the bench, finding a missed text from Mea.

 

_Sorry, can’t. I have an exam tomorrow._

 

He hesitates just for a second before moving to the next conversation on the list and asking Jada if she’s free instead, without feeling much shame.

 

“You just boil water and drop the pasta in for how ever long the box says. You really can’t screw it up,” Reggie shakes his head. “Which girl?”

 

“Jada,” Archie replies, throwing his gym bag over his shoulder and running a hand through his wet hair. At least he hopes so.

 

“Oh, nice one, man,” Reggie slaps him on the back. “Gym again tomorrow?”

 

 

 

———-

 

 

 

 

 

 

Navigating the aisles in the small grocery store, Archie manages to find a box of spaghetti and a jar of pasta sauce quickly. A loaf of French bread grabs his eye near the checkout, and because his mom always serves garlic bread with spaghetti, he dashes back to the produce section to find garlic. If this works out well, he’ll have to remember to call his mom to tell her her son isn’t completely incompetent in the kitchen.

 

He’s happy to find the apartment empty when he returns home, because he doesn’t want Veronica to witness his inevitable fumbling and because he also doesn’t the need the reminder of what it is he’s trying to block out. He thinks he can still smell _Chuck’s_ potent cologne.

 

While he googles garlic bread recipes, Bobby sits at his feet waiting for something to drop to the floor so he can eat it. The first link seems easy enough, instructing him to either heat up on the stove or microwave — _obviously the winner_ — a bowl of butter and garlic together. But he ends up with a mess, because the garlic has somehow managed to explode around thirty seconds in, little slivers of peel he was _maybe_ supposed to remove but the instructions didn’t specify, floating in the bowl. Toasting the bread doesn’t work out well either, because slicing it thinly enough to get in the toaster means the little slices are too small to get out and he burns about six pieces before he figures out how to slice the bread differently. Bobby gets the burnt ones, because he’s not picky.

 

And Reggie, as it turns out, is _wrong_ — you _can_ screw up spaghetti. After waiting eleven minutes like the box says, he drains the water and finds he’s got a block of noodles all stuck together, like they’re mocking him.

 

His phone goes off while he’s trying to figure out what to do from here.

 

_I have plans already, sorry._

He’s not really used to getting turned down twice in a row. And he feels like he’s really pushing it, guilty sending a third identical text today to Lisa as he pulls off a noodle from the block and gives it to Bobby. Maybe this isn’t the smartest idea he’s had. But it did seem like a pretty good one early this morning.

 

 

———-

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s something burning, Veronica notices when she steps off the elevator to her floor, the smell escaping from under some poor soul’s door out into the hallway.

 

Some poor soul happens to be _her_. When she unlocks and opens the apartment door, the smell intensifies ten fold and she finds her roommate standing in the middle of the small kitchen staring intently at the phone in his hand as multiple pots of water boil on the stove.

 

She’s a little shocked to see what looks like every pot and pan they own pulled out of the cabinets, and remnants of bread and garlic littered across the counter top. “Making dinner, Gordon Ramsey?” She asks as she hangs up her coat. “You shouldn’t have.”

 

“It’s not for you,” he replies tersely, still staring intensely at his phone.

 

She’s put off a bit by his response, confused at his curt tone. “ _Okay_. I wasn’t making any assumptions, but I thought we were watching the Bachelor tonight.”

 

 _He_ had been the one to bring it up yesterday, in fact, and she was maybe looking forward to it all day.

 

She watches as he mumbles something incoherent at his phone and runs his hand through his hair, and then finally looks up at her, blinking. “Sorry, what?”

 

One of the pots of water chooses this moment to bubble violently over, the water hissing as it hits the stove top. Archie rushes over to turn it off, turn them all off, and sighs as he tucks his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. His shoulders are slumped forward, and he’s compulsively still running a hand through his hair as he looks down at all the pots.

 

“Can I help you somehow?” She tries again delicately, moving closer and resting a hand on the crumb covered counter. He looks very frustrated.

 

“Help me?” He sounds more friendly, but wears a look of disbelief when he lifts his head. “You can’t make pasta, either.”

 

“ _Can’t_ is subjective, Archie,” She replies matter-of-factly, reaching for her phone in her skirt pocket. “My mother’s chef is just a phone call away.”

 

He reaches out his hand quickly, covering the screen to stop to her tapping fingers. “I don’t need a personal chef, Ronnie.”

 

“You’re clearly trying and _epically_ failing to impress _someone._ You need help,” she asserts, raising a perfect eyebrow and pulling her phone away from him. “Who is the lucky bachelorette, anyway? My vote is for Jada.”

 

He sighs. “I’m just trying to make a simple meal….I... wait, what?” He furrows his forehead. Why Jada?”

 

“No reason,” she says slowly and smiles. “Can I implore you to ask Betty then since you’re too proud to accept professional help? We can call and have her walk us through what to do.” She doesn’t wait for a response before proceeding, putting her phone on speaker.

 

Betty laughs at the request when Veronica and a very reluctant Archie inform her of the situation. “Okay, so first you have to boil water,” Betty explains in a voice like she’s talking to small children.

 

“I think Archiekins has that covered. He’s got 4 pots on the stove already,” Veronica teases, placing the phone on the counter.

 

“You only need one, just go with the biggest. Make sure the water level is no more than three or four inches from the top so it doesn’t boil over.”

 

Veronica arcs an accusing eyebrow at Archie, who grins before grabbing the big pot and pouring out some of the hot water carefully.

 

“Okay, done,” Veronica confirms. “What’s next?”

 

“Add three pinches of salt and turn it on high until it boils.”

 

While Archie maneuvers the hot pot back to the stove, she turns to search for the salt in the upper cabinets. Despite her heels, it’s still quite a reach to push the other containers around — Archie’s red pepper flakes and her garlic powder in front from their recent pizza consumption. The salt container is just at the tips of her fingers, heels lifting out of her shoes when she feels him step up behind her, his hand coming to rest on her waist while he reaches above her.

 

“I’ve got it, shorty.”

  
  
It’s either his heady voice at her ear, or the proximity of his furnace-like body that sends tingles running up and down her spine when she settles back into her shoes and he removes his steadying hand — unsettling tingles she doesn’t expect and certainly can’t explain beyond her recent lack of physical activity.

 

He smiles that _Archie smile_ down at her when he hands her the container and steps back, and her brain goes oddly fuzzy.

 

“You guys still there?” Betty’s voice breaks up whatever is short circuiting in Veronica’s head.

 

She clears her throat. “Yes, B. Three pinches coming up.” Archie steps to the side to let her add the salt, leaning against the counter and slipping his hands into his back pockets.

 

“You want to call me back when the water boils?”

 

“Sure, thanks B!” Veronica answers quickly. The phone beeps as Betty hangs up, and Veronica mimics Archie’s pose against the island, crossing her arms.

 

“So Jada, huh?” She tilts her head inquisitively. She wants to tease him, wants to watch him squirm under her interrogation to forget whatever it was she just experienced.

 

“I never said it was Jada,” Archie answers, shrugging his shoulders, and offering no further explanation.

 

“That’s my vote,” she states, finding a crumb at her foot that Bobby hasn’t spied yet, and pushing it in the dog’s direction.

 

“Why’s that?” Archie asks, his eyes squinting a bit with a hint of a smile before looking down to watch the dog.

 

Veronica mentally questions whether or not to bring up the noise, if now is a good time to start _that_ discussion. But since she had given him a taste of his own medicine last night, she doesn’t want to be a hypocrite _quite_ so soon.

 

“I just like her the best,” Veronica replies with a shoulder shrug of her own. She’s the _quietest_ , she adds silently.

 

The water boils soon after, having already been heated up before she walked into his mess, and they get Betty back on the phone promptly.

 

“Okay, guys. Turn the burner down to medium. How much pasta do you have?”

 

Archie picks up the opened box on the counter and peeks in. “Half the box?”

 

“That’s good. Add that in and give it a minute before you start stirring it to get all of it under the water,” Betty explains patiently.

 

As Archie adds the pasta, Veronica finds the wooden spoon, and they follow Betty’s directions.

 

“I want you to stir it every two or three minutes. Set a timer on your phone and call me back in ten,” their friend instructs before saying goodbye and hanging up again.

 

“So, Chuck, huh?” 

 

It’s Veronica’s turn to smirk. The noise _did_ get to him, it seems. Stirring the pasta slowly, she nods her head. “Yes, Chuck. What about him?”

 

“How long has that been going on?” Archie asks, taking up his former spot against the counter as he sets a timer on his phone. “Haven’t seen him around before.”

 

Veronica places the spoon down and turns to face him more squarely. “We’re just friends.”

 

“Friends that spend the night together?” His question sounds more curious than accusatory.

 

Chuck had asked her what was up between her and her roommate before he left this morning, that Archie had given him the stink eye. She was hopeful that meant Archie had gotten the message that the walls are thin, and they should be more considerate of one another.

 

“Friends that scratch itches, Archie. Much like your trope of darling doggies parading up and down our hallway,” she points out.

 

“Touché,” he concedes, reaching for the wooden spoon and taking a turn stirring.

 

Veronica uses the moment to fully take in the additional mess scattered over the island. The bread bits scattered across the counter left abandoned, cold pieces of toast lying around covered in unappetizing garlic peel. He was obviously trying to impress _someone_. One of his girls must have made a deeper late night impression on him than she thought. Maybe he’s ready to start seriously dating again. _Good for him,_ she thinks _._

 

“Your bread looks like a lost cause. What exactly were you trying to accomplish here?”

 

“Uhhh, garlic bread?” He offers, walking up next to her and scratching his head, looking down at the mess.

 

“It’s certainly garlic and bread. But let’s not tell Betty about this part,” she proposes, patting his arm.

 

They entertain Bobby, trading off stirring duties until ten minutes pass, and Betty instructs them to taste-test a piece. Archie manages to snag some pasta on the spoon, and Veronica uses her nails to grab one. She dangles it up in front of him, grinning. “You do the honors, chef,” she declares.

 

He leans down to grab the dangling bit in his mouth, and she lets go as he slurps it up loudly to make her laugh. He offers two thumbs up as he chews.

 

“It’s done, B!”

 

Betty manages to talk them through heating the sauce without issue before bidding them goodnight. Veronica watches Archie tend to the pasta on the stove before excusing herself to her room. She doesn’t need to chaperone his date, too.

 

Spike sleeps stretched across her bed and doesn’t stir when she drops her purse onto it. Groaning in relief, she slips off her heels and sits on the edge of the bed, lifting a foot onto her stocking covered knee to dig her thumbs into her sore sole.

 

She’s surprised to find herself a bit disappointed that they aren’t watching the finale together. It shouldn’t matter; the show is dumb after all, but she rather enjoys listening to Archie’s comical input more than watching the show itself. And while her nighttime tryst with Chuck had been delicious, she’s been feeling a bit lonely lately that Betty isn’t around much for girl time. Their once-a-week coffee dates just aren’t cutting it.

 

She’s deciding between streaming the show on her iPad tucked up in her bed or watching it tomorrow on the TV when Archie knocks on the doorway to her room.

 

He stands there silently for a few seconds, his cheeks reddening. “My plans fell through,” he says sheepishly. “Do you want to eat with me?”

 

His face looks a little bit brighter when she nods quickly, and she can’t help the small smile from breaking loose. “I’ll change and be out in a minute.”

 

 

 

 

———-

 

 

 

 

 

 

Archie’s not sure what made him send the text — cancelling with Lisa before she even had a chance to respond. Maybe it’s because he’s feeling guilty about the other girls. Maybe it’s because he’s just not feeling up to entertaining anymore. Or maybe instead it’s because he wants to spend the next two hours on the couch with his roommate watching her show, he reasons, as he dishes out two bowls. Veronica did try to help him with his date after all, and he had completely forgotten about their _sort-of_ standing plans. And now that he knew he could be around her without thinking about _last night,_ it should be fine. It's the _right_ thing to do.

 

Bobby follows him around the island into the sitting area with the bowls. While he’s waiting for her, he grabs a bottle of wine and two glasses off the liquor cabinet — he’s usually not a wine drinker himself, but after midterms this week, he could use _something_. And he knows Veronica will want some, too.

 

The dog sits obediently at his feet as Archie settles into the couch, and while he’s opening the bottle, Veronica comes back, clad in those silky teal pajamas she loves.

 

“Oh, good call on the wine. Perfect idea,” she commends, taking her place on the couch as Bobby takes his cue to jump up as well, settling into the space between them.

 

“I’ll need it to get through this,” he jokes, but they both know he enjoys the nonsense of it almost as much as she does.

 

The pasta is okay, and the wine is better. The second half of the show is _much_ better with his third glass, and Veronica starts throwing the couch pillows at the screen when their pick of the final girls gets out of the car first, a sure sign that she’s going to lose, apparently. “This is bullshit!”

 

Bobby jumps down when she tucks her legs up on the couch and starts swatting her hands around in frustration, catching Archie’s arm in the process.

 

“Ow,” he feigns, putting down his glass to ensure it’s safety. “Don’t take it out on me. It’s this guy’s mistake.”

 

“It’s all men. They don’t know what they need. They need to be told,” she says. “This one in particular. He’s an idiot.”

 

“I take offense to that.” They have this faux argument weekly, and Archie is ready with his usual retorts.

 

She slides her bare foot over to poke him in the side, wiggling her toes into his ribs. “Says the man parading a line of girls down our hallway.”

_That_ is a new accusation from her. Archie is a little lost. “What’s wrong with that?” He dodges another foot jab. “Maybe that is what I want right now.” There’s nothing wrong with playing the field, he thinks- lots of people do it.

 

“You can’t make up your mind,” she pries, her foot continuing to do the same into his side, and he realizes she’s teasing him. “Make up your mind, Archie!”

 

She gets him in a particularly sensitive spot and he grabs at her foot in defense. The alcohol delays his reflexes as she swings a pillow at him instead, hitting him squarely on the side of the head as she tries to escape his hold on her ankle.

 

Her dark eyes go wide as they both still — realizing she’s made a grave error. The pillow gets thrown in the ensuing battle as he pulls her closer by her ankle, attacking her with his free hand to find her ticklish spots like a heat seeking missile.

 

“Bobby, save me!” She’s twisting and squealing. Archie can barely keep his hold on her in the silky pajamas as she bucks up to loosen his grip. He blames the alcohol, because she does manage to gain the upper hand for a moment, the remaining throw-pillows flying, but she makes an error trying to pin him down instead of fleeing before he gets it back.

 

When he’s on top of her, both of his hands locking her wrists above her head and their lower bodies pressing immensely too close for comfort, she stops fighting, breathing heavily like they’ve both run a marathon.

 

 _Oh, fuck_.

 

It’s all he can think — staring down at her, onyx eyes gleaming and shiny hair fanned across the cushion as they catch their breath. They’ve never been this close, her warm breath on his cheek like a sweet caress. He’s never noticed how smooth her skin is or how her eyelashes curl up a bit at the ends. She’s even more exquisitely beautiful up close and bare faced — and she’s looking up at him with her dark eyebrows raised in question, expectantly.

 

When he feels a familiar stirring in his pants, his brain starts to catch up to what’s happening down below, and he shoots up off of her like a bat out of hell.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, standing and picking up the dirty plates. He can feel his face getting warm as he walks them over to the sink, keeping his body turned away from the couch and from her to hide the redness he knows is growing.

 

He opens the fridge and stands there, horrified, trying to come up with something else to say as the cool air pours out and he stares at the nearly empty shelves — hoping beyond all hope that she didn’t feel his very embarrassing reaction to her body pressed up against him, now shrinking with his fear pumping through his veins.

 

“Don’t apologize for winning, Archie. Is there any white wine left in there?”

 

There’s a bottle on the door, and he takes as long as is reasonable before grabbing it and turning back around, wishing he didn’t still feel his cheeks burning. She’s thankfully not looking at him, pouring the last few drops of their first bottle into his glass. She’s either amazingly oblivious or an extremely good actress. He doesn’t know which.

 

The rest of the night he feels like there’s a huge elephant in the room that only he can see, taking up all the space and sitting on his chest like a two ton weight of bricks. Veronica just snuggles down into the couch with her full glass and a blanket, Bobby curled up on her feet like _nothing happened_. Like the entire world hasn’t just shifted completely in the span of five minutes.

 

He finishes the second bottle of wine, silently toasting the elephant, mortified.

 

 

————-

 

 

 

 

Things get a little _weird_ after that night. That’s the only way Veronica knows how to describe it to Betty at their weekly coffee date, sitting in matching fraying armchairs at the cafe with a little marble table set between them, drinks steaming. Veronica tells her how Archie walked in on her in the bathroom the other day. She hadn’t bothered locking the door because he wasn’t home when she got in the shower, and he stood frozen in the doorway while she wrapped a towel around herself in the steamed up room. She wasn’t embarrassed, confident in her body — but he was, babbling incoherently and shutting the door harder than he meant to, and proceeding to avoid eye contact with her for the rest of the day.

 

“And last night when I got home, he’s sitting on the couch, and immediately jumps up, trips over the carpet and the cat, and mumbles something that sounded like “plans with Reggie” before running out the door without his keys. I had to let him in at two a.m., and his apology is the first full sentence he’s said to me in the past 48 hours.”

 

She points her spoon at Betty. “I think he’s embarrassed? Whether it’s about his botched dinner, my nudity, or a combination of the two, I’m not sure.” Veronica stirs her coffee, thinking — it’s certainly _weird_.

 

Betty has another idea. “I think he likes you,” the blonde announces before sipping her cappuccino nonchalantly, like she didn’t just drop a bomb on their conversation.

 

“That’s _ridiculous_ ,” Veronica retorts, barely holding back a snort.

 

“Oh, come on, V. You remember the first time he met you? He was drooling all over the carpet.”

 

“But that’s just Archie. He’s got a line of girls knocking down the door every night, B.” Veronica pushes her hair back over her shoulders, rolling her eyes. “Believe me. The walls are incredibly thin.”

 

“Does that bother you?” Betty tilts her head, propping it up on her arm as she leans in.

 

“Of course it does. Because it’s annoying and I need beauty sleep.”

 

“Does it bother you for some other reason? I seem to remember you having an eye on him when you first met, too,” The blonde squints, a mischievous twinkle at the corner of her eyes.

 

Veronica scoffs, brushing away invisible crumbs off her skirt. “What? Now you think I like him, too?”

 

“Don’t you?” She presses.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

Archie is well, _Archie,_ she thinks — her adorable puppy-dog roommate. They’re just _friends_. She feels nothing beyond a platonic love for him — him and his goofy dog  fitting in so nicely in her life and brightening up her day whenever he’s around. She can’t help but smile when he sings to her, and he fills her heart up a little every time he brings her home a coffee or a pastry or…

 

 

 

 

 

“ _Oh my god_.”

 

 

 

 

————

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Jug, I have a problem.”

 

His beanie clad friend looks up from his laptop as Archie slides into the seat across from him in the library.

 

“The kind of problem I’ll need a burger to listen to? Or a stiff drink? Either works for me,” Jughead replies. He stares expectantly at Archie, fingers paused over his keyboard, waiting.

 

Archie drops his head into his clammy hands, elbows on the worn wood table. His stomach is in knots, like he’s swallowed a hive full of bees. The proverbial rug has been pulled out from beneath him, and it feels like somebody is whacking him with it over and over again.

 

 

 

“I think I’m in love with Veronica.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Any day could be some day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks. Coffee. Shots. Oh my!

** Chapter 2 **

 

 _I've been all around the world_  
_Marching to the beat of a different drum_  
_But just lately I have realized_  
_Maybe the best is yet to come_

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

“So let me see if I have this right.”

 

Archie’s forehead rests heavy on the bar, putting down roots into the fake wood for more than an hour now as he laments to Jughead _everything_ that’s happened in the last few terrible days.

 

“You heard her with Chuck. She helped you with your failed date, or she helped you _get help_ for your failed date,” Jughead states. “Betty thought that was hilarious, by the way. You two need to learn some basic life skills.  And then you had an epiphany when you somehow ended up _horizontal_ with her that _you_ want to be the one to get her to make salacious noises.” He pauses, taking a sip of his beer. “Is that about the gist of it?”

 

Archie groans lifting his head, reaching for another sip of his beer and croaks out, “What does salacious mean?”

 

Jughead ignores his question. “So what’s the problem?”

 

“What do you mean, what’s the problem? She’s my _roommate_! It’s _Veronica_.” Archie doesn’t understand why Jughead isn’t quite getting the level of panic and anxiety he’s reached, like he’s driving a car at 90 miles per hour and the breaks have gone out. The last time he felt this way was when he had to give a twenty minute oral presentation for Mrs. Dean’s English class in the tenth grade.

 

Jughead takes a sip of his own beer before patting a comforting hand onto Archie’s back. “Congratulations. Betty and I were wondering when you two would get to this chapter.”

 

The alcohol is finally seeping into Archie’s brain, fogging up his memories, but doing little yet to the anxious feeling he’s been wearing over his shoulders like the worst kind of jacket. His stomach has taken up permanent residence in his throat, trying to strangle him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

Jug slaps him on the back again, grinning, before shouting for the bartender.  “Can I get two shots of Jack Daniels down here?”

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

Betty won’t stop smiling at Veronica, her perfectly white teeth shining like the sun on a patch of pristine snow.

 

“How did this happen?” Veronica feels bamboozled. She’s observant — How could she have failed to notice she was falling for her roommate? — her adorable, strong, kind, _extremely handsome,_ and _ripped_ roommate.

 

“Sometimes, when we see someone else we find attractive…”

 

“Betty, this is serious!” Veronica cuts off her friend’s teasing. “What am I going to do?”

 

“Go for it, of course.”

 

“We’re _roommates_ ,” her voice cracks, and other cafe patrons turn to stare at the pair as the volume of her voice rises. “Ignoring the fact that we don’t actually know how Archie feels about me, when this inevitably goes south, what do we do?” Veronica’s clammy hands are flying while her usually level-headed mind races with worry. “Designate visiting hours at the apartment? Joint custody of Spike and Bobby? I don’t want to find another roommate in the middle of the year!”

 

Betty offers an apologetic smile to the table next to them, a pair of older women who have taken to eavesdropping, and leans in towards her frazzled companion. “But what if this is amazing? What if you’re meant to be?” She reaches a comforting hand over Veronica’s. “You owe it to yourself and to him to _tell him,_ V. I think you’ll be more than pleased at the response you’ll get. He’s been tripping over you since you met.”

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

“This was inevitable. You’re two peas in the proverbial pod, Arch. I don’t know how it took you this long to figure it out.”

 

The whiskey burns Archie’s parched throat as he pours back the shot, searing in his nerves instead of relieving them. He tips the empty shot glass up on its side, letting it flop upright on the bar when he lets go with a quiet clunk. “She doesn’t feel the same way,” he says dejectedly.

 

“Don’t be an idiot, of course she does.” Jughead signals to the bartender for another round. “But for the sake of this pity party discussion, I put forth exhibit number one, the first time you two met.”

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

_Betty’s hosting dinner, Jughead explains, because she wants a nice atmosphere in a well controlled environment when his best friend meets her best friend._

 

_It’s also because she has a much nicer apartment as it turns out when Jug and him knock on her door, clutching a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine respectively. They’re greeted to a swing of Betty’s ponytail as she quickly welcomes them in, and the delicious smells of garlic and onion take up residence in his nose._

 

_Betty and Jughead (mostly Betty) have decreed it officially time for the families to meet now that they’ve been dating for a while, starting with their best friends. Archie isn’t complaining, because he knows first hand how well Betty can cook. He has no expectations beyond leaving here tonight with an extremely full belly._

 

_Following Jughead into the kitchen, his head turns to take in the wall of windows along the living space — the 25th floor view of the city quite a spectacle with the mesmerizing lights and shadows of the adjacent buildings — and proceeds to bump into a small solid form, his foot getting caught up while he tries to save the bottle of wine from slipping out of his hand. Twisting his body he loses his balance, falling on the hard floor flat on his back with the wine bottle stretched out in front of him victoriously._

 

 _There’s a chorus of_ Oh my god, Archie _and_ Are you okay’ _s from Betty and Jughead, but it’s the angelic teasing voice from the onyx haired beauty above him that stands out._

 

_“That’s certainly one way to make an impression.”_

 

_She’s got an eyebrow arched up in amusement at him as he gets to his feet and brushes himself off, dismissing Jughead’s offered hand. He can’t stop staring at her, towering above her when he rights himself and holding the wine out awkwardly by his side. He thinks he’s met heaven, and she’s barely five feet tall._

 

_She’s staring right back at him, beaming in amusement. Her hair is shimmery dark, and her lips are stained red, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so mesmerizing before. She doesn’t wait for someone else to make an introduction._

 

_“Veronica Lodge. You must be Archie Andrews.” She reaches out a tiny hand in greeting._

 

_“Nice to meet you,” he says, still dumbfounded, giving her the wine bottle instead of shaking her hand, his brain still down on the hardwood floor._

 

_Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she reads the label. “A 2014 vintage cab? Perfect.”_

 

_“Jughead picked it out.” Fidgeting, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his empty hands, running through his hair before sliding them into his pockets._

 

_“I figured he had good taste since he’s dating my Betty.” She smiles up at him, and he thinks it’s the prettiest one he’s ever seen._

 

_“Don’t let that get to his head.” He returns the smile, feeling like his whole body is warm and gooey inside._

 

_“Believe me, I won’t,” she laughs, and it sounds like bells. He certainly didn’t expect to be spending the evening with the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on._

 

_“We’re standing right here,” Jughead interrupts._

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

He did quite literally trip over her, Veronica thinks, remembering the moment fondly.

 

 _“_ You two have had rom-com written all over you from the start,” Betty explains, knowingly. “He’s been so smitten since the beginning.”

 

“All of that was just harmless first introduction flirting. Two people showing the other they appreciate what they see. That was it. He’s never done or said _anything_ since then.” Veronica speaks very matter-of-factly, but she feels the opposite inside — like she’s been missing a very large piece of the puzzle this whole time.

 

“ _Wrong_. That was _not_ it.” Betty shakes her head, and lets out a breath like she’s settling deeper into the conversation. “Do you remember Kevin’s Friends-giving party first year?”

 

“Vaguely. I remember someone burned the turkey, and we all drank more than we ate,” Veronica replies. She can’t remember much else. “Was Archie there?”

 

“He was.”

 

“I honestly don’t remember.” Veronica’s eyebrows furrow together, trying to recall some foggy memory from three years ago.

 

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” Betty begins.

 

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

“That doesn’t explain anything, Jug.” His head is starting to pound a little bit, and he can hear his pulse in his ears, mocking him.

 

“Yes, it does. She’s been giving you heart eyes since you tripped at her feet. Not to mention the amount of drool Betty had to clean up off your plate, and probably hers, at the end of the night.” Jughead knocks backs his second shot and slides the empty glass forward.

 

“I don’t drool.”

 

“Oh, please,” Jughead nearly snorts. “You drool like a mangy lap dog. Exhibit two, Kevin’s thanksgiving party.”

 

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

_The music is too loud — somebody’s turned on ABBA for some reason — and the windows are open to air out the smoke from the turkey disaster. Betty and Jughead are busy ordering backup plan pizza in the kitchen while Archie watches the living room crowd from his seat on the couch, looking around at the twenty or so co-eds crammed into the small space. There isn’t much room to get around, let alone spaces to sit, and he’s thinking about getting his fourth beer to have something to do._

 

_“Heeeeeeeeey there, Cowboy. Mind if I sit?” Betty’s roommate slides sideways across his lap before he can respond, letting her feet dangle over his legs and into the personal space of the person sitting next to him. She leans back against the armrest, eyes twinkling and not quite focusing on his face as she sips some dark liquid from her glass._

 

_“This party is a tad tragic.” Her cheeks are red, either from the alcohol or the close proximity of twenty bodies in a ten by ten room, or both, Archie assumes. “Did you hear the poor turkey was burnt to a crisp? That’s what Kevin gets for turning down my offer to cater.”_

 

 _“Betty is ordering pizza.” He doesn’t know what else to say. They haven’t had much in the way of conversation since the night they met at her apartment, just the occasional hey, hi, hello when bumping into one another on campus. He’s at a loss for talking points — which seems to be okay, because she’s carrying the conversation all on her own. He catches the words_ Sicily, Margaritas, _and_ real pizza _, but he’s distracted by her face and not really listening._

 

 _She’s even more beautiful than he remembers —_ _all shining eyes and hair and shimmery bare shoulders. Her lips are dark red, and he can’t help but watch them move as she talks, gesturing wildly with her hand holding her glass while the other curls around his shoulder._

 

_He doesn’t know when he put his hand down to rest on her thigh, but it’s there, and her skin is so warm and soft underneath his fingertips. His other arm is stuck between her back and the armrest with his empty beer can, and it doesn’t matter at all._

 

_“At least that’s what I think. Do you agree?”_

 

_He catches the last part when she maintains eye contact, her hypnotic black orbs staring into his soul, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to be agreeing with. “Absolutely.”_

 

_She grins and leans over to kiss him on the cheek before standing. “I need a refill. Can I get you another beer?”_

 

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

Veronica sips her coffee as Betty reminds her of the shenanigans of Friends-giving. She does remember waking up in alone in Kevin’s bed the next morning with a pounding headache and mouth full of cotton, finding the host sprawled out on his couch with Fangs and feeling slightly guilty she took the bed. But the details of the night itself remain fuzzy.

 

“Archie was so smitten. Just letting you go on and on about something for hours. Seriously V, like _three hours_.” Betty taps her on the back of the hand as she adds, “You didn’t move from his lap.”

 

“But you said he was drunk, too, so…” Veronica trails off, trying to recall the memory. “Look, it doesn’t matter what happened three years ago. It matters what happens next.” She wants to forget this, wants to keep chugging through her senior year, eye on the prize, and not have any hiccups to derail her. “Which is nothing. It‘s just a crush. It’ll go away.”

 

Betty shakes her head, ponytail swinging. “Oh, no. _Absolutely_ not. You are _not_ going to sweep this under the rug, V.” Despite the glare Veronica gives her, Betty slaps her hands down on the table and continues. “Since when have you ever backed down from anything? You’re _Veronica Lodge_! Suck it up and go for it!”

 

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

“Ok, fine. I was drooling.” Archie’s forehead takes up its previous position on the bar, willing the booze to crank up its effects so he can forget feeling this way. “But just because she sat on my lap three years ago does _not_ mean she _likes_ -likes me now. She was drunk.”

 

Somebody queued up Uptown Girl on the jukebox, and Jughead chuckles as the song starts to play. He’s quiet, swirling the little bit of beer left in the bottom of his glass, letting Archie alone with his thoughts for a few minutes.

 

But every time he closes his eyes, Archie sees Veronica’s dark ones staring up at him, and his stomach does another summersalt. He wants to curl up in his bed with his dog and sleep it all off for a week, hide away until he gets over this.

 

 “Why didn’t you make a move back then?” Jughead asks after the song ends.

 

“She’s out of my league,” Archie says, like he’s been repeating over and over in his head all day. “No chance. Exhibit three or whatever…have you seen who she dates?”

 

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

_It’s December of freshman year, cold and windy, and outside everyone’s pace is quick to get back into the warmth of the buildings. Archie isn’t in any rush though, having finished his classes for the day and in absolutely no hurry to battle the crowds down in the subway to get home._

 

_He’s shuffling in front of Meyer Hall when he sees her across the street, unmistakable raven hair and a skirt no sane person would ever wear in this weather. At the intersection, he catches the walking sign and crosses over, jogging the last few feet around other pedestrians to catch her before the light changes again._

 

_“Veronica!”_

 

_She looks up when he calls, and the sunlight hits her face in such a way that something curls around in his stomach at the vision. “Archie! Hello,” She smiles, tipping her head, and there’s a small hint of a dimple on her wind-reddened cheek. “Off to class?”_

 

_“Done for the day. How about you?” His breath comes out in puffs of clouds in the temperature as more people gather at the corner waiting for the light. She’s shorter than usual, not in her usual high heels but rather in some fancy boots which seem more weather appropriate._

 

_“Still have macroeconomics,” she makes a face, adjusting her leather gloves. “What a way to end the week.”_

 

_The walking sign changes and he naturally follows her and the crowd into the crosswalk, despite his subway station being three blocks in the opposite direction._

 

_The sudden urge to find out what she’s doing tonight hits him as they reach the other sidewalk, dodging other pedestrians along the way, and he has to ask. “That sucks. Have any plans tonight?”_

 

_“Actually, no. I think I may get a head start on studying for finals.”_

 

_His inner voice is telling him to do it — ask her out, here’s the perfect chance — but before he can decide if it’s a sane idea or not, he’s bumping shoulders with someone not paying attention._

 

_“Sorry.” The guy is huge, probably little to do with the winter jacket he’s sporting, and tall — his glance passes quickly over Archie to Veronica, a flash of recognition in his eyes when he meets hers._

 

_“Michael!” Veronica stops, seemingly delighted to see him._

 

_“Hey, V.” The guy shrugs his shoulders as he tucks his hands into his pockets, and Archie gets the sense he’s sporting some serious muscle underneath._

 

_“Archie, this is Michael from my stats class. Michael, this is my best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend Archie.”_

 

_Archie doesn’t have time to process Veronica’s introduction as the guy shakes his hand and adds, “Nice to meet you. My friends call me Mad Dog.”_

 

 _Veronica and Mad Dog step to the side out of the sidewalk traffic, and Archie follows, adjusting his backpack and wondering what kind of guy introduces himself to people as_ Mad Dog _._

 

_“How was Jenkins this week? I have him now.” Veronica asks, using that same smile and head tilt she did for Archie before. Archie’s eyes dart back and forth between the pair awkwardly, wondering._

 

_“You’re gunna need a drink when you’re done. He’s in a piss-poor mood this week,” Mad Dog warns, leaning in a bit closer to her, ignoring Archie, and smiling slyly. “And I’m happy to join you in drowning the pain tonight, if you’re free?”_

 

_Archie can’t help but chuckle at the horrible pick up line, but neither of them notices as they continuing smiling flirtatiously at each other._

 

_“Actually, that sounds great.”_

 

_Archie’s dumbfounded at her answer and has to adjust his face as he watches her put her number in the guy’s phone. He’s staring bewildered at Mad Dog’s retreating large back after he promises to call her later and tosses a ‘nice to meet you’ towards Archie._

 

_He remembers to close his mouth before Veronica turns back around towards him, still confused about what just happened._

 

_She’s still grinning wide, the smile taking over her whole face, and starts to walk again. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”_

 

So much for that, _he thinks._

 

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, look man. I can sit here all night trying to convince you that you’re wrong, she does like you, and this self pity party is pretty ridiculous.” Jughead shakes Archie’s shoulders after he finishes telling the story, jostling him enough to lift his head. “Or you can just go for it. What do you have to lose?”

 

“My pride.” Archie’s not convinced, needs to drown a bit more tonight before deciding what he should or shouldn’t do, waving for the bartender for another round. “And probably my apartment and dog, too.”

 

Jug calls him an Uber a few shots later when he’s cut off, and Archie’s thankful he doesn’t have to navigate the concrete for the ten blocks back to the apartment while the world is spinning. The driver gives him a look when stumbles into the back seat, but Archie is too drunk to give a shit.

 

Exhausted, he closes his eyes and leans back against the worn in seat, ignoring the smell of musty car and the noise of rap on the driver’s radio as they pull away.

 

He keeps seeing her — damp skin and dripping wet hair, standing there in the foggy bathroom. Her curves are in all the right places and there was just _so much skin_ everywhere that he couldn’t move or think, let alone _breathe_. He was in a rush having mistakenly set his alarm for the wrong hour and just looking for his damn toothbrush, not thinking when he barged in without knocking to be met with her doe eyes and creamy skin, and _my god her tits were amazing —_ perfectly proportioned to every inch of her.

 

The _Veronica’s Moans_ track starts playing again in his mind as he pictures it all over again in slow motion.

 

She wasn’t embarrassed, just raised up her eyebrows in amusement at him as she reached over for her towel, slowly wrapping it around her gorgeous body and hiding it all away again. When she was covered up, he was back in his body, fumbling for the door and mumbling out apologies, wincing as the door rattled on the frame. But the image is seared into his eyelids. He can’t forget it. Doesn’t want to…

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

The whole way home Veronica repeats what Betty told her as she crosses streets and dodges other pedestrians, the sun setting below the buildings and leaving a warm orange glow to the bits of sky peaking around the cement and bricks. The sunset calms her a bit, like the day is fading slowly and with it her anxiety is, too.

 

_Suck it up and go for it!_

 

What can she do? She wants to just get it over with, air it all out in the open like dirty laundry. Well, _no_ , she actually just wants to forget it, but Betty is right — she _never_ backs down. The more she thinks about it, the more she starts agreeing with Betty’s assessment of Archie’s feelings — Veronica has caught him staring at her every now and again — and his actions over the last few days could certainly be explained by a crush…

 

Her chin angles up as she marches into their building, the warm rush of air blowing through her hair as she enters. She’s ready. She can do this — consequences be damned.

 

The elevator ride seems to take forever and she spends in fixing her lipstick in the mirror and brushing her hands through her hair in nervousness. While she ascends, the nerves start to bubble up again and are sitting high in her throat when she reaches their floor. She definitely should have stopped for a drink first.

 

The apartment is quiet when she enters, but the lights are on, signaling he must be home. Bobby meets her at the door, and she reaches down to pet him and let him settle her nervous mind for a minute. She shrugs out of her coat and hangs it up before taking a deep cleansing breath, ready to face the music.

 

_Suck it up and go for it!_

 

She steps determinedly further into the apartment keeping her chin up, letting the comforting homey scent of her Atelier candles welcome her in, the echoes of her heels bouncing around the walls.

 

When she sees him, her stomach does a loop like she’s just reached the top of the first hill of a roller coaster.

 

Sprawled out laying on the couch, Archie’s asleep, one arm tucked behind his head while the other dangles to the floor, Spike curled up on his chest. She can’t help the smile growing on her face as she takes the adorable sight in, and she walks quietly closer, heels whispering across the hardwood as she steps over his discarded shoes.

 

Sitting on the edge of the cushion carefully so as not to disturb him, her fingers reach out to brush the soft auburn hair off his forehead, and she lets them drag down the side of his face of their own accord, brushing across the light stubble on his strong jawline. He really is quite something to look at, but she’s never stopped to admire him like this, not so close at least. And not for so long, since the last time they were on this couch together, his wide eyes staring down at her — and she gets a strange feeling in her stomach remembering their position. The same strange feeling she’s been having on and off, since he started bringing home those girls — a feeling she’s been dismissing as simply annoyance.

 

He exhales deeply, the smell of alcohol hitting her in the face, and she realizes that her big confession will not be happening tonight. He shifts slightly, and she freezes her hand, but he’s still asleep, bringing an arm up to settle on Spike who’s still snoozing away on his chest.

 

As her heart rate returns to normal and the butterflies start to settle, her eyes catch on his fallen phone on the floor under the coffee table. Reaching down to retrieve it, she can’t help but glance at the screen, the text alerts there shining up at her.

 

**Victoria**

_How about tomorrow?_

 

Her chest falls as the adrenaline of the last few minutes leaves her completely and the doubts creep in again in its place, filing in the voided nooks and crannies as her mind starts to sink.

 

 _Of course_. In all Betty’s excitement and trips down memory lane, she had forgotten all about his date and every other reason the timing is terrible right now.

 

She places his phone face down on the table, and leans over to kiss his cheek, letting her lips linger there softly. When she pulls away, she takes another good look at him, the freckles dancing across his cheek bones and the plumpness of his bottom lip so close.

 

She pulls the blanket hanging off the back of the couch down and covers up his legs, scratching behind Spike’s ears before she gets up. When she reaches the hallway, she turns back to look at the duo before switching off the light, the darkness bathing across the room.

 

“Goodnight, Archie,” she says quietly, slipping off her heels as Bobby follows her to her room in her quiet retreat.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

Something warm wets his cheek, drawing him into consciousness and out of hazy dream land.

 

His first thought is how thirsty he is, but the second is about the dampness spreading across his jaw. As a rough tongue finds its way into his ear, he’s pulled completely into the land of the living, jolting awake to find his dog standing on his chest panting down at him.

 

Bobby continues licking his face until Archie sits up, lifting the small terrier up off of him and putting him down on the ground with a pat on his head. “In a minute, Bobby.”

 

The sunlight streams in through the wall of windows, and Archie rubs the sleep out of his eyes, waiting for them to focus. He doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch last night. He _does_ remember quite a few too many rounds at the bar with Jughead before his friend called it a night and got him an Uber.

 

Spying his phone on the coffee table, he turns it over to check the time. He has a few missed texts, but it’s only seven a.m., so he flips the phone back over and stands up to stretch, Bobby starting to run in circles as he makes his way to the front door in anticipation. The dog has his leash in his mouth before Archie can find his shoes and jacket, not entirely awake yet.

 

The brisk temperature outside wakes him up further as he waits for Bobby to do his business. He’s fortunately headache free but has some of the post-inebriation jitters running through him as he cracks his neck, bouncing on the balls of his feet to get his body moving. Bobby seems full of energy this morning, so Archie jogs around the block twice with him, trying to feel more normal.

 

It’s only when he’s back in the elevator, watching the numbers ascend that he remembers.

 

 _Veronica_.

 

Quiet terror fills him up inside as his heart starts to race and last night’s conversation with Jughead comes rushing back to him. He feels nauseous as the elevator doors open and he walks slowly back to their door. Instead of going in, he leans forward, resting his head against the wood and squeezing his eyes shut. Bobby starts scratching at the bottom of the door, but Archie ignores him, taking deep breaths through his nose as he tries to figure out what the hell he’s going to do.

 

This could go a few ways — he could tell her, she could reciprocate his feelings, and they could live happily ever after as a perfect little family, her, him, Spike, and Bobby; he could tell her, she could turn him down, and he’d have to move out in embarrassment as she’d be too disgusted to look at him ever again; or he could _not_ tell her and wait for it all to blow over…

 

He’s thumping his head against the door as Bobby continues to scratch at it, debating not going back in at all, and just standing out here in a perpetual state of limbo when it suddenly opens and he falls forward.

 

He catches himself before tripping, dropping the leash as Bobby runs in between Veronica and the door — She’s holding it open expectantly, with an unamused look, bare faced in her short silky pajamas with her hair all tangled like she just woke up.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

He clears his throat, trying to look anywhere but at her face or legs — too much skin to remind him he’s a fool — mumbling out an apology as his cheeks redden.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

She huffs and makes a face like she’s annoyed, pulling him in by the sleeve of his jacket and closing the door. “We have to talk.”

 

He steps back to find breathing room, too close now in the entryway. He wants to play dumb, give her an excuse he’s too busy right now, but he can’t keep this all bottled up inside a minute longer, ready to bubble over and spew his guts to her, “I think so, too.”

 

Her runs a nervous hand through his hair and finally looks her in the eye. He can’t quite read the emotion on her face — it looks like she’s trying very hard to keep it neutral. The hallway suddenly feels exceptionally small.

 

“Are you worried about another date?” She asks.

 

He’s thoroughly confused by her question and the little bit of _something_ he hears in her voice.

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Another date?” She repeats, eyes going to the floor. “I’m sorry. I saw your lock screen when I picked your phone up off the carpet last night. Victoria said something about you getting together today.”

 

Archie has no recollection of texting anyone last night. He knows even a drunk version of him wouldn't have been making plans with other girls when he’s so hung up on her, taking his phone out of his pocket to figure out what she’s talking about.

 

“I haven’t checked my phone yet this morning.” He quickly scrolls through a list of notifications to find Victoria, scanning a few texts _she_ sent _him_ about getting together that he thankfully left unanswered. He slumps back against the wall in relief.  “I wasn’t in any state to respond to anyone last night. But, no, I don’t have a date.”

 

She looks up, her expression a bit softer.

 

He continues, hand going up to the back of his neck as he tucks his phone back in his pocket. “I uhhh … _may_ have overdone it last night with Jughead at the bar.”

 

“So is that why you’re knocking your head against our door?”

 

He feels his cheeks go red, but manages to joke, “Just making sure the door is solid.”

 

He at least gets her to smile a little, before her eyes drop back to the floor and her expression goes neutral again. He can almost _feel_ the deep breath she takes.

 

He’s ready. It’s now or never.

 

They start speaking at the same time.

 

“Archie, I...” “Veronica, I…”

 

They pause, seeing if the other will continue before trying again.

 

“I need to tell you...” “I have to tell you...”

 

She squints her eyes at him as they stop speaking again and takes a half step forward, before lifting her hand and placing a finger softly over his lips. He swallows anxiously as the air tightens further around them, and he waits for a hole to open up in the ground beneath him.

 

She opens her mouth to continue, but hesitates, no words coming out — instead her eyes search his face, and he watches them darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips as she lowers her hand.

 

 _He’s either dreaming or Jughead is right_ , he thinks as she takes a step closer. All the air has officially been been sucked out of the apartment as he stares down at her, but it’s fine because he stops breathing anyway — all other thoughts flying out of his head when she leans against him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest — every thought except _Veronica_.

 

She has a freckle beneath her left eye that he’s never noticed, and tiny scar on her forehead close to her hairline that makes him want to reach out and trace with his fingers. But when he glances down at her lips and he watches her tongue dip out to wet them, he gets so nervous — nervous she can hear his heart trying to escape out of his chest and that he’s going to wake up any second.

 

So he goes with it, reaching up to frame her face with his hands as his thumbs run across her cheeks, and he catches the relief on her face with the motion.

 

“I didn’t think you felt the same,” she whispers, her breath fanning across his lips.

 

“I didn’t think _you_ felt the same,” he murmurs right back, searching her eyes for anymore uncertainty and finding none.

 

“We’re idiots,” she adds, with just a hint of smile at the corner of her mouth.

 

“ _Definitely_ , idiots.”

 

He _feels_ more than hears her small moan as he finally leans down that last inch and closes the gap, pressing his lips to her plump ones. Their kiss is soft and sweet, but so very slow and hesitant, and as her bottom lip slides between his, he moves a hand down to wrap around her waist, pulling her up closer to him.

 

He can’t believe this is happening.

 

They draw it out until they need to break apart to breathe, and Archie pulls back to look in her eyes again, making sure there is no more doubt reflecting back at him.

 

She wears the same wide eyed look she did the other night on the couch, the look that makes him think of every time he’s seen her smile or laugh, or watched her hair flip over her shoulder when she turned her head.

 

 _A vision_.

 

It also reminds him how close they are, pressed up against each other with his back against the wall, and his fingers slipping against her silk top and every one of his wildest dreams about to come true.

 

That’s it. The line has officially been crossed, and there’s no turning back around now. She’s nowhere near close enough now, and she must agree, because as his other hand dives into her hair cupping the back of her head, she leans further into him and wraps her arms around his neck like she never wants to let go.

 

Their first kiss was sweet.

 

The second is _on fire_.

 

Like someone flips a switch, they flip positions, his pelvis pushing her back into the wall as their wet tongues meet for the first time in a rage of wills and her heel wraps around the back of his calf, drawing him in as his leg slips neatly between hers. Any oxygen left in the hallway has ignited in a fury, and he can’t think anything besides _Veronica, Veronica, Veronica_ as she hastily pushes off his jacket before he reaches down to pick her up.

 

He’s suffocating as he acquaints himself with her tongue, her legs around his waist like a vice, not close enough. She tastes like something dark and sweet, a blood red cherry, and when she bites his bottom lip, he can’t help the growl that possesses his throat.

 

They don’t hear the first knock.

 

It’s a minute later when his lips find her collar bone and the smooth skin on top of it as her head bangs back against the wall that the rap at the door finally registers.

 

He pulls back to look at her face, eyes dancing and breathing hard, about to suggest they ignore it and _fuck whoever the hell that is,_ because she feels so good pressed against him.

 

“That’ll be Betty,” she says softly, catching her breath and leaning her forehead up against his as their unwanted visitor continues to knock and starts yelling Veronica’s name through the door.

 

Putting her down is so very difficult, the moment deflating. He steps back, just staring at her — her hair even more of a mess now and the skin across her chest flushed in a beautiful shade of red that _he_ put there.

 

She steps forward, pulling his face down to her with a fist on his t-shirt, and his heart skips a beat as she kisses his cheek softly and slowly before bringing her lips to his ear in a breathy voice he hasn’t heard from her before.

 

“Tell her I’ll be five minutes.”

 

She disappears down the hall before he has a chance to process what she says, leaving him with only a hint of her flowery perfume.

 

The knocks sound again and he notices that Bobby is sitting by the door staring at him expectantly, waiting to greet their guest.

 

Archie picks up his discarded coat off the floor to cover the problem in his pants before he opens the door to find Betty — dressed in workout clothes clutching two cups of coffee and smiling much too brightly.

 

He’s never been so unhappy to see her.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all can blame Milly, Marie, and Alex for the sort-of cliff hanger. I make no apologies.
> 
> Shout out to my Varchiedale girls. And to my wife Vik who supports me through my shenanigans while writing this. 
> 
> Cannot stress enough how grateful I am for the feedback last chapter. xx
> 
> Lyrics at the beginning from Someone Like You - Van Morrison


	3. Is it foolish if I don’t rush in?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only takes a moment - one second of decision with instant results - to change the course. Of everything.  
> "Are you sure?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my GGs

 

** Chapter 3 **

 

_staring at the ceiling_

_hearts and records spinning round_

_I've been lovin' with no meaning_

_running from a feeling now_

_and all that I want is you_

 

_. . . . ._

  


Giddiness is what she feels walking up University Place, Betty and her perky ponytail swaying at her side with her yoga mat on her back and the sun shining on her head. Veronica sips her almond latte trying to hide the smile that won’t leave her face, relishing in this earth tilting feeling — this morning is certainly going better than any other in recent memory. The sun is shining, the weather is unreasonably warm for October, and she thinks she can hear birds singing if she listens close enough.

 

Her _fuck it, let’s go_ decision had paid off — consequences be damned — all because a certain red headed dream boat had her pushed up against their entry wall, panting in her ear and about to make any fantasy should could think of come true, all before eight a.m..

 

Brushing by him in the kitchen after hastily getting dressed for yoga, she had let her fingertips linger on his hip for a moment as she tossed a sultry _see you later_ over her shoulder at him and followed Betty out the door. She feels light on her feet, rejuvenated, and a little bashful as they walk the five blocks to the yoga studio.

 

“I’m sorry, what is up with you?” Betty grabs her abruptly by the shoulder, stopping her from walking into the street. “You’re a space cadet for the last four blocks, and you’re gonna get run over.” The blonde lifts up her sunglasses as Veronica peers back at her friend over the lid of her drink, half hiding her grin.

 

Betty leans in a bit more and squints her eyes, reading the expression on the brunette’s face before a flash of recognition crosses her features. “Oh? Oh my god! You told him! Shit, V! _Details_. _Now_.”

 

Veronica lets the demand hover for dramatic effect, taking another sip and then linking arms with Betty as they cross the street, ready to spill. “Let’s just say I took your advice and you interrupted something _quite_ delicious fifteen minutes ago.” She lets the smile she’s been trying to hold in-check go wide, stretching ear to ear. She feels _incredible_.

 

Betty is quite literally squealing as they continue up the street, shaking Veronica’s arm. “I need more than that!”

 

Veronica indulges her, recounting this morning’s doorway activities in tasteful detail while a bit of a flush develops on her cheeks. “And then he had me pinned up against the wall when you started knocking.”

 

“That explains how peeved he looked when he answered the door,” Betty laughs. “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you two. But why did you let me interrupt you? You could have told me to get lost, V.”

 

Part of her wanted to. But a smarter part of her, a bit of her brain that wasn’t malfunctioning, won out. “I don’t want to rush it,” Veronica explains. “I mean, I _do_ want to rush it— don’t get me wrong, I’d love nothing more than to jump his bones —but this is one of the best parts, you know?” Reaching the studio entrance, she holds the door open for Betty before continuing. “I want to drag this part out as long as feasibly possible.”

 

Veronica pulls off her yoga mat hanging on her shoulder as she finds a place for her coffee and jacket along the wall. “And from that quick introduction, it’s not going to be too long a wait and _so worth it_ , B.” She smiles devilishly at Betty as they find open spots on the crowded floor.

 

There’s too much fire there, between her and Archie, for either of them to hold back for too long. And she can’t believe how blind she was to it for so long.

 

“Maybe even tonight.”

 

“I’m so flipping excited for you two. I was all ready to tell you what he said to Jughead last night, in case you were still having doubts.” Betty sits on her mat and stretches her arms above her head, long limbs reaching for the sky. “Don’t tell Archie I told you. I had to drag it out of Juggie using my feminine wiles.”

 

“Pinky promise,” Veronica agrees. “What did he say?” The anticipation, in addition to the sauna like temperature in the studio their instructor sets, warms her up inside. She can feel her muscles relaxing already as she sits and brings her heels together, waiting for her friend to continue.

 

Betty stretches her legs out in front of her, bending her head down to her knees. “Oh, just how much he’s into you, afraid you don’t feel the same, concerned about what might happen if telling you doesn’t go well,” she teases. “Sound familiar?”

 

Veronica hums, remembering the look in Archie’s eyes as he had cupped her face in his strong hands, running his calloused thumb over her cheek like she was so precious to him. He was so nervous, and she feels her heart crack a little reflecting how cautious he had been in that moment.

 

There’s still a little doubt in her head, mostly of the _did that really just happen?_ kind, but beyond that she’s dismissing any further future consequences. _What’s done is done._

 

It seems so surreal that less than an hour ago her whole world was rocked on its axis. But as they start into their first vinyasa, she’s lets the doubts flutter away, enjoying the stretch of her muscles in the warm space and remembering his hands gripping her backside.

  


Betty requests a full report of the rest of the day’s activities — _should anything else happen_ — when she says goodbye outside Veronica’s building, leaving to catch the next train back to Astoria. Veronica is sweaty from class, ready to shower and maybe steal another kiss when she arrives home to an Archie-less apartment and a note on the counter.

 

**_Ronnie,_ **

 

**_I promised Fangs I’d meet him at the gym this morning. Be back later._ **

 

**_I’ll be thinking of you._ **

 

**_-Archie_ **

 

Her insides flip over as she rereads his last line, thinking how cute it is that he wrote it out on paper instead of texting her, _romantic_ even. She reads it twice more, slipping the note beneath a book in her desk drawer in her bedroom for safekeeping, before she enters the bathroom to shower, finding Spike snoring in the sink.

 

Scratching behind the cat’s ear fondly, she’s scrolling through her Spotify to find her Leon Bridges radio when she gets the urge to text him as the music starts playing.

 

Her fingers hover over the screen when she opens up his text chain, rereading his last message from days ago.

 

_Finally filled up my punch card at Think! Free latte coming your way!_

 

She’s unable to come up with something that doesn’t sound stupid, typing and deleting dumb words over and over until she deletes them all, sending simply _xo._ She watches as the text bubble pops up as it’s delivered and is shocked to see him start typing back almost immediately, sending a jolt up her spine as her eyes go wide and she nibbles her bottom lip nervously. The anticipation builds with the three blinking dots as she waits, praying her message isn’t too much, too soon.

 

A simple little blue heart appears and she has to stop the Betty-like squeals threatening to erupt out of her mouth. Instead, she scoops up Spike and spins around the tiny space with her face in his large furry body to muffle her girlish giggles.

 

 _She’s such a goner_.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

A shot to his jaw knocks him off balance, the impact rippling across his face as he shuffles backwards to the ropes to stay upright.

 

“Okay, Andrews,” Fangs says, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “I think we’re done here unless you want me to pummel you. Your head isn’t in it today.”

 

Archie rubs his jaw with his glove and cracks his neck. The hit was light — they are just sparring after all —  but Fangs is right. He really isn’t focusing today.

 

He can’t stop thinking about this morning and _that_ kiss.

 

“And what’s with the shit-eating grin?” Fangs bounces back and forth lightly on his feet, sparring the air in front of him at an invisible opponent. “Did you get some last night?”

 

“Naa, just feeling good.” He doesn’t know if Veronica wants to tell other people about what may have occurred this morning, so he keeps it to himself. “Let’s go again.” He doesn’t even know what she _thinks_ about it yet.

 

His note this morning, the _I’ll be thinking of you_ , is true, and he hopes it isn’t too much. When Veronica had left with Betty, she had brushed her hand over his back as she passed by, fingers lingering much longer than considered friendly on his hip, and he wanted to make it clear that the kiss wasn’t just a fleeting moment between them in his eyes, either.

 

When she sent her text, he had been scrolling through the baseball scores on his phone while waiting for Fangs, and his smile had grown infinitely. He didn’t know what to reply with, typing and deleting, before settling on the heart emoji when Fangs finally arrived.

 

He thinks he should ask her out to dinner, formally, and wonders if tonight is too soon to suggest it. Or instead if he should wait to talk to her when he gets home, just to be sure that’s what she wants — sees where _she_ thinks this might be heading — if he can actually start _dating_ _her_.

 

One thing is _absolutely_ for sure — he can’t wait to get home later.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

The grapefruit scent of her shampoo fills up the steamy shower as the suds run down the drain, along with any thought that isn’t _Archie_. She’s taking her time, indulging in the feel of her fingertips massaging her scalp and thinking about his there instead, listening to the smooth romantic croon of the music as she reaches for the conditioner.

 

Her hair is the longest it’s been ever, tips down to her mid-back and overdue for a trim. She’s been thinking about changing it, cutting it all off into some sort of stylish bob, but the way his fingers danced through her strands this morning makes her want to keep it. It’s a bit more romantic this way, she thinks, even if it’s a bit more work.

 

She takes her time shaving her legs, wishing she had kept her waxing appointment last weekend, and talks herself out of blushing when she continues grooming, still not quite believing this is for _him_.

 

But does she really want to jump into bed _today_?

 

It’s all so fast, but then again it’s also been _three years. Oblivious_ years, but still three of them.

 

Better to always be prepared. Especially when they went from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye in the hallway. _Is it foolish to not rush in?_

 

Archie Andrews is everything and nothing she’s ever thought she wanted. He’s not smug or overly confident like her other suitors. He doesn’t flash his high-end watch at people or humble-brag about vacation homes. He isn’t suave or worldly.

 

He’s handsome beyond reason, thoughtful without question, and oh, so very _kind_. He calls his mom every weekend, and he FaceTimes with his dad’s dog. He makes her want to be a better person, a better friend, a better daughter.

 

He’s ignited the fire inside of her she’s recently been blindly trying to keep lit with a ripped umbrella in the middle of a monsoon. Her embers are suddenly burning bright blue. _For him_.

 

What a difference a day can make.

 

She takes her time moisturizing her damp skin when she steps out of the shower, then drying her hair and softly curling the ends. The makeup on her face is light and airy when she selects a casual dress from her closet, a rich navy blue number that hugs her in all the right places.

 

Spike winds around her feet as she stares at her reflection in the full length mirror of her bedroom, her fingers twirling the ends of her hair over her shoulder as she remembers the feel of him pressed up against her. His heat had radiated into her skin like nothing was between them, pulling her into him like a lock that only she is made for. She wants to feel that way again.

 

 _Needs to_.

 

_Tonight._

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

Fangs pushes him through a few more rounds before Archie calls it, wiping the sweat off his hot forehead and shaking his sore arms out. He’s a little disappointed when he checks his phone and gathers up his things in the corner of the ring, disappointed another message isn’t waiting for him before heading to the locker room to shower.

 

He’s a bit nervous to head home, taking his time in rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. He’s not sure what to expect when he gets there — it’s Saturday, so he doesn’t think Veronica has anywhere she needs to be for school, but she could have other plans keeping her away from the apartment. He considers texting her to find out, but doesn’t know how to sound casual about it.

 

He still can’t believe this morning happened. He was all ready to hibernate in his room like a hermit until graduation or until his dumb feelings went away, whichever came first. But when she stepped into him, brushed her soft lips against his, and made him forget anything but her name, he knew this was it. This is the _real thing_. There’s no hiding from it now.

 

He’s ready to shout it from the rooftops — but first he needs to make sure she’s up there with him.

 

The sun is still shining when he picks up a latte for her, just in case she’s home. When he turns the corner on 10th street and sees the giant display of flowers in the window at A University Floral Design, _he_ _can’t not buy a bouquet._

 

He happens to know she likes white roses best, perhaps the only useful information to come out of their weekly Bachelor screenings, if he’s being quite honest.   _Red roses are so cliche, Archie. White ones are much more elegant._

 

“Must be for a special girl,” the clerk says when she hands over the bouquet he selects, pleased with the extra little decorative bits she added in to make it even prettier.

 

His cheeks redden. “She definitely is.”

 

He feels a little funny clutching a coffee and two dozen roses in the last few blocks to their apartment, careful not to knock in to anyone in his haste, but his excitement grows the closer he gets.

 

He’s ready to pour his heart out.

 

His dog greets him at the door, jumping up at the flowers Archie lifts up as he closes the door with his foot and drops his gym bag, nerves swirling.

 

“Where is she, Bobby?” He whispers.

 

Bobby barks at him, hovering near the door and waiting to go out

 

“Ronnie?” The lights are off, and when he enters the hallway, he’s disappointed to see her bedroom dark at the end of the hall, the hand clutching the bouquet falling dejectedly to his side.

 

She isn’t home.

 

Placing the coffee on the counter, he finds a note from her in the place he had left his.

 

**Archiekins,**

 

**I’m out for the afternoon with Kevin. Pedicure appointments.**

 

To say he’s disappointed is an understatement — until he reads the next line.

 

**Take me to dinner?**

 

**Yours,**

 

**V**

 

She _would_ ask him out first, in her own way. He’s silly to think he could have beat her to it.

 

 The dog barks again while he’s grinning stupidly down at the note.

 

“Got it, Bob. Give me a second.” He hides the flowers in his room, and then opens up a browser on his phone, searching for _Romantic restaurants in NYC_ before grabbing Bobby’s leash.

 

He’s definitely going to have to make tonight special.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

“Wait. What did you say? I think I just had an aneurysm.”

 

Her feet are toasty warm in the foot spa, the relaxing jets pulsating against her skin as Kevin gets his feet scrubbed in the chair next to her.

 

“You and Archie did _what_?”

 

“We made out,” Veronica leans closer to him over the armrest, lowering her voice dramatically. “And it was amazing.”

 

Kevin’s jaw hangs wide open as his foot flinches in the hands of the woman holding it. She gives him a disapproving look before getting back to his heel callus with her pumice stone.

 

“Kevin, it was _so hot_ ,” Veronica continues, raising her eyebrows. “Like _Next. Level. Hot._ ”

 

“The guy is ripped,” Kevin nods. “I’m glad he isn’t just all for show. But how did this happen?”

 

Continuing her trend today of dragging out the details, Veronica reaches for her cup of ginger tea before answering, blowing on the surface to cool it off. “He took Bobby out this morning. When he got back, we kissed.”

 

“Were you dressed?” Kevin lowers his voice after side eyeing the woman working on his feet.

 

“Pajamas,” she replies simply, with a shrug.

 

“You’re killing me here.”

 

“Okay.” She smirks, glad she has his whole attention. “He’s been acting strange the last few days. I discussed it with Betty over coffee last night and we came to the conclusion that I have the hots for him and Betty thinks he does for me.” She pauses, taking a slow sip and letting the crisp taste dance in her mouth for a moment. “So this morning when he got back with Bobby, I met him at the door and told him we needed to talk. And instead of talking, we kissed.”

 

“This is so romantic,” Kevin says,clutching his hand to chest. “Roommates falling for one another. It’s classic.” He sighs, reaching over to grab her arm. “What’s the plan now? Are you dating?”

 

“I asked him to dinner tonight,” Veronica smiles. She had wanted to give Archie the same delight he gave her in leaving a handwritten note and didn’t want to dance around the next step.

 

“Ooooo. Where are you going?”

 

The timing is impeccable when her phone beeps with a text, _Archiekins_ lighting up on her screen.

 

“Hold that thought,” she tells Kevin as she unlocks her phone and opens up her messaging app.

 

_Of course. Gramercy Tavern? How does 6:30 sound?_

 

She does a little dance in her head as her pulse quickens, so pleased as her fingers fly across the keyboard to respond.

 

_It sounds perfect. I’ll meet you at the apartment at 6._

 

“Gramercy Tavern,” she delightfully announces to Kevin.

 

Archie responds back quickly with a photo of him drinking a take-out coffee on the couch, Spike and Bobby in his lap.

 

_I brought you home a latte. But we decided to drink it instead ;)_

 

Her giddiness is magnified tenfold as she shows Kevin the picture before replying.

 

_Watch Bobby’s caffeine intake. <3_

 

“That’s superb. I’ve eaten there with Fangs. You must have the lobster salad,” Kevin tells her. “And you’re going to call me tomorrow with all the naughty little details of what’s to come,” he adds, matter-of-factly.

 

“Of course,” she confirms, slipping her phone back into her bag at her side.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

She selects a rich red polish for her toes to match her fingernails, the manicure still fresh from a few days ago. Instead of waiting for them to dry in the salon when the pedicures are over, they dash a block away to Kevin’s apartment in the little provided flip flops, her wedges clutched in her hand, for an afternoon coffee and a binge of The Great British Baking Show.

 

She for sure can’t go home again until it’s time for their date and spending a few hours on the couch with Kevin, one of her favorite activities, is a perfect way to pass the time and settle into the giddiness. It’s still pulsing through her veins from this morning, intensified in the last hour by the dinner plans.

 

Thank God for Betty Cooper.

 

When Netflix asks if they’re still watching a few hours later, she realizes it’s already 5:30 and untangles herself from the blankets, announcing she has to get changed.

 

“You brought a change of clothes?” Kevin asks, eyeing her small handbag on the table suspiciously.

 

“Of course not.” She leaves him on the couch and enters his bedroom. Digging through his closet, she shifts the shirts and suits around looking for a particular item, before shimmying out of her dress.

 

When she emerges a minute later to ask him to zip her up, he looks even more confused, placing his bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, did you…hide a dress here?”

 

Smiling, she runs her hands over the black lace and spins in a circle, smoothing it out over her thighs and then adjusting the long sleeves on her shoulders when he zips her up — still a perfect fit.

 

“Always be prepared.”

 

“Where was this hiding?” He asks, hooking the clip at the top of the zipper together.

 

“Tucked inside one of your old Armani blazers.” She shrugs, slipping her feet back into her wedges. “You never know when you might need a quick change. I want to make an entrance.”

 

“You’re a fabulous piece of work, Lodge.”

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

He changes his shirt four times, his pants twice, until he finds a combination that he thinks is presentable — dark gray slacks and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up. He spends fifteen minutes with his hands in his hair trying to wrangle it into something that looks like he tried, but not too hard, and then picks up around the apartment. It’s not too messy, just a few empty glasses and sweaters here and there, but it looks tidier when he’s finished.

 

Bobby watches him bored from his dog bed as he paces around to catch anything else out place, moving the cat’s scattered toys to his cage, before he moves on to his bedroom, picking up his laundry and straightening up his desk he hasn’t cleaned up since moving in.

 

The nerves are bubbling up like the spaghetti pot from earlier in the week, but he’s trying hard to keep them in check. The second he had touched her this morning, all his anxiousness had disappeared, and he knows as soon as he sees her again, holds her hand, kisses her face, it’ll all settle down again. He just needs a little more reassurance she’s on the same page.

 

At 5:45, he takes Bobby outside one last time to do his business, rocking back on his heels as he looks around the busy block, wondering if she’ll come home earlier than promised. But there’s no flash of shiny raven hair at the corner or the tell-tale clack of heels on the concrete — just faceless pedestrians and noisy cars in a hurry to their Saturday night plans.

 

He pulls a jacket out of the closet when they get back inside, placing it on the kitchen counter to remember for later, as the temperature is dropping a bit now as the sun goes down. The nerves are creeping up again, and he takes his phone out of his pocket to kill the last few remaining minutes, sliding onto one of the kitchen stools.

 

When he hears her key in the door, he drops the phone on the counter so abruptly that it slides over the edge onto the floor with a clatter as he rushes to get up. He manages to bend down before the door opens — but when he’s standing back up with the retrieved electronic in hand, his heart stops at the vision in the doorway.

 

He has a flashback to the first time he met her, staring down at him splayed across the floor, in this very spot, when it was her and Betty’s apartment — her dark eyes shining and raven strands framing an amused smile. It’s the same smile she’s giving him now, but brighter and maybe a little shyer, and he can feel his lungs trying to remember how to breathe.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

She starts walking towards him, but he can’t move his feet, just staring at her in her black lace dress — one he hasn’t seen before, because he would have _definitely_ remembered it — hugging all her curves with plenty of skin showing below the hemline on her thighs.

 

She places a hand on his chest over his heart, and he think he can feel her squeezing it as she leans in to kiss his cheek. But he remains frozen, clutching his phone in his hand and just gazing down at her like she can’t possibly be real. If he moves, she might disappear.

 

“I just need to change my shoes, and then we can go?” Her voice is soft, and he likes it like this.

 

It isn’t until she’s turning and walking away that he remembers how to move, reaching out to grab her wrist before she slips away and pulling her back towards him. He drops her hand and reaches up to brush her silky hair behind her ear, watching her eyes soften with the motion.

 

“You look beautiful, Ronnie.”

 

She smiles, reaching up to adjust his collar. “You look quite handsome, yourself.”

 

He catches her hand once more before she tries to walk away again, kissing the back of it and watching a bit of color flood her cheeks before she heads down the hallway.

 

 _Fuck_. He’s such a dead man.

 

She’s gone for only a minute, returning in a black coat, different heels, and a hint of a light floral perfume he’s noticed on her before. He shrugs on his coat too, and checks to make sure he has his wallet and his keys, before following her out the door, exchanging small glances and smiles like silly nervous teenagers.

 

They don’t say anything during the elevator ride down, but she reaches out to hold his hand and he stares at the interlocking fingers during the decedent, the sight making him ridiculously happy.

 

Unfortunately, her hand seems just as clammy as his — he was hoping at least one of them wouldn’t be nervous — and he caresses the back of it with his thumb, trying to reassure her. _It’s just us._

 

When he trips over the mat at the building’s front door, they both start laughing, the anxious bubble bursting.

 

“You’re always tripping over me, Archiekins.” She teases with a gentle squeeze. His cheeks redden further.

 

“I can’t help it,” he agrees.

 

And just like that, they fall into their normal rhythm, talking about what they did all day like they normally do — who they saw, what they ate, the shenanigans of their pets they witnessed.

 

The only difference is while they walk north, he keeps her hand clutched tightly in his.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

The restaurant is moderately busy for a Saturday night. Veronica is impressed Archie has the foresight to make a reservation. The ambiance is delightful — low lighting, candles flickering in votives, and bottles of wine chilling table side.

 

Their hands remain clutched across the table.

 

It’s an odd combination — first date jitters, but knowing the person across from you so well that all the normal questions one would ask are off the table.

 

“Is this weird?” She asks after a moment of quiet, looking around at the other couples and groups laughing and sharing meals.

 

“Only if we make it weird.” Archie shrugs, continuing to drag his thumb reassuringly across the back of her hand.

 

“I suppose there isn’t a handbook on how to date your roommate,” she says.

 

Her foot accidently nudges his jittery leg, but she leaves it there, ever so slightly brushing up against him and liking that his leg stops jumping to let her.

 

“So this is definitely a date?” He asks with a hopeful raise of his brow, and she can’t help but giggle.

 

“I did ask you out, didn’t I?” She says, teasing.

 

“Just making sure. We haven’t talked about whatever this is yet.” His nervous other hand finds its way to the nape of his neck, like it often does.

 

She reaches for her wine glass, taking a sip of the burgundy rich liquid, letting the alcohol ease her. “What do you want this to be?” She needs to know how he feels before she says anything else, doesn’t want to put herself out on the line if he’s wanting for less.

 

His firm immediate response is reassuring, squeezing her hand. “I want to date you, Veronica.”

 

Hearing the words out loud does something to the atmosphere they’ve created, a little mixed bubble of emotions — spreading and thinning them all out until there’s only a calm, pleasant feeling remaining. Any lingering nerves have left out the door.

 

“I’d love that, Archie.”

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

 

 

 

 

 

Their smiles stay constant through their appetizers, Kevin’s recommended lobster salad no longer on the menu. She gets Archie to _try_ her beef tartare he turned his nose up at in trade for one of his shrimp, and they make steady work of the bottle of wine Veronica selected.

 

They switch dinners half way through, her arctic char and his pork belly passed across the table, both of them wanting to try the other’s dish, but then refusing to give it back once tasted. Food is definitely something they’ve always bonded over, and tonight is no exception.

 

“Want a taste?” She hovers a fork full of her cheesecake towards him during dessert, eyebrow arched flirtatiously while she waits.

 

Instead of taking the fork, he leans forward to let her feed him, and her belly flips a little bit when she watches the bite disappear, his mouth tugging on the utensil.

 

“That’s really good.” He goes back to eating his, staring down at his chocolate cream tart.

 

“Aren’t you going to offer me a taste of yours?” she asks.

 

“Nope,” he smirks, taking a bite of the accompanying ice cream.

 

She kicks him softly under the table as she scoffs at him, and he starts laughing. Reaching across with her fork to steal some, he covers his plate up with his arm to block her. “Archie!”

 

“It’s too good!” Pushing her fork back with his spoon, Archie huddes over the plate in defense.

 

Her eyes squint at him as she returns to her perfectly delicious cheesecake, kicking him again with the point of her shoe, but then he’s holding out his spoon with a bit of everything on his plate for her and tilting his head sheepishly.

 

She doesn’t say anything, but purses her lips before leaning forward at the offer, letting him feed her. Maybe she lets the spoon linger in her mouth a little when she does, for his benefit, but the moan she produces is one-hundred percent authentic when it hits her taste buds.

 

“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” She brings her napkin up to cover her mouth as she chews the delicious bite.

 

“See?” He agrees, digging back in. “I want this every night.”

 

The wine is long gone, but it’s effects are ever-present — everything a little looser and brighter, and they don’t stop smiling and laughing as they share the rest of the desserts, basking in the feeling.

 

She fights with him over the check, but he just keeps shushing her until she stops complaining that he’s paying. She gives in with a “ _Fine_ , _it’s mine next time”_ but he only shakes his head with a smile as the waiter takes the bill.

 

Helping her into her coat, Archie holds the door for her when they leave, stepping out into the chilly October air. While today had been unseasonably warm, the evening cool wind had crept up around them while they dined. Perfect cuddling weather.

 

She curls into his side as they begin to walk south, his arm around her waist to tuck her in closer against the light breeze, walking slowly. The night feels a bit magical, with a full belly and twinkling eyes.

 

He kisses the top of her head while they wait at a corner, content at the back of the crowd waiting for the light change, so that the return trip takes much longer than the walk there. She doesn’t mind the faster sour-faced pedestrians dodging around them, usually something she would do herself. They’re in their own little bubble, and she’s happy to take her time.

 

“I had a really good time tonight,” she tells him as he uses his key to open up their apartment door, the first time either of them has said anything since leaving the restaurant, just enjoying each other’s silent company. When she looks up at him, holding the door open, he’s staring back with so much adoration that she can’t help but bring her hand up to his cheek, brushing her fingers down his lightly stubbled jaw before walking inside.

 

As expected, Bobby is waiting anxiously, and Archie excuses himself into the hallway with the dog’s leash after a sweet kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

 

She slides her coat off when he slips out the door, dog in tow, and notices for the first time that he cleaned up the apartment today. She missed that detail when she came home before dinner, her eyes zeroing in on him and only him in the kitchen.

 

He had seemed a little shell-shocked when she entered, and she was pleased her dress had the desired effect. Tonight had been more than amazing, far exceeding her expectations. It was always so easy to be around him before now, and she hoped the next level of their relationship was just as effortless.

 

It’s still a little early, nearing ten, as they had gotten lost in conversation through the three course meal. The city lights look different tonight, coming in the wall of windows to illuminate the mostly dark apartment, with just the small hall lamp she flipped on shining behind her as she steps up to the glass.

 

It _feels_ different. Like a new electric current is running beneath the ground, energizing anything it’s touching. Everything is prettier. Everything is more alive.

 

Things will be different now, too. No matter what happens next, they can’t go back to how it was before. And she’s okay with that. It’s a _good_ different.

 

Archie makes it back inside with Bobby, and Veronica hears him closing the door and hanging up his coat as the dog prances across the hardwood floor. She stills, listening to Archie shuffle around a bit behind her in the entryway, and then walking through the living room until he’s standing just behind her shoulder, their two figures reflecting back at her in the window.

 

His calloused hand slips around her fingers at her side, squeezing them gently, and she feels the air shift like it did this morning. The earth tilts just a little off axis. Breaths come just a little quicker. Her heart pumps just a little faster.

 

She squeezes his hand back and watches his reflection shift behind her, watches his other hand reach up and feels him brush her hair back over her shoulder, exposing the skin of her neck.

 

He’s right behind her now, arm sneaking around her belly as his chest presses into her back. She can’t help the gasp that escapes her throat when he touches his lips softly to the bare skin of her neck, can’t help but tilt her head to give him more access, can’t help bringing her other hand up to cover his across her waist.

 

There’s an intensity growing deep in her belly, a familiar stirring when she feels his tongue dart out to taste her skin and his name crosses her lips in a quick breath as her eyes flutter shut.

 

He’s pressed tightly up against her now with no more space to hover in, nothing left there between them but contact. It’s all too much, yet not nearly enough. Dropping his hand at her side, she reaches up, her fingers diving through his soft hair as he pulls her even closer to him, his arousal becoming apparent against her lower back.

 

He presses a kiss just behind her ear before she’s spinning around in his arms, desperate to feel his lips against hers again. _Now_.

 

This is just like their second kiss this morning, starving mouths and needy hands that run everywhere as he backs her up quickly, trapping her between the cool glass and his hard body as her lip stain smears and cheeks flush.

 

Everything is _Archie, Archie, Archie_.

 

It feels so natural when he reaches back around her thighs to lift her up, like this morning by the door. But this time — _this time_ when she wraps her legs around his waist, his hands are on the bare skin underneath her dress, grasping her backside through her thin panties, and everything is just so much _more_. _This time_ there’s no interruption, no Betty knocking. _This time_ her hands release the buttons of his shirt, dancing across all the new warm skin she exposes as she untucks it. Her hands reach in and around to clutch at his back as he bites her lower lip, and she feels him press against her, hard and pulsing right where it matters.

 

 _This time_ he pulls back, his amber eyes searching hers, a million questions reflecting there in the shimmery gaze. His voice is heavy and low as he nudges his forehead against hers.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

She’s never been more sure of anything else in her whole life.

 

Her fingers find the nape of his neck, dragging through his hair as she closes her eyes, softly pinching his smooth earlobes between her fingers before she leans forward enough to whisper her lips against his.

 

 “Take me to bed, Archiekins.”

  


 

 

_. . . . ._

  
  
  
  
  


It’s sheer willpower keeping him upright, trying to navigate down their hallway and not trip over the carpet while he presses her into every available flat surface along the way, because he _has_ to get closer.

She’s nibbling on his ear before she murmurs “ _My room”_ into it, in that soft voice he’s learning he loves more than any other sound in the world.

He had started to carry her into his bedroom, but turns and continues down the hall to hers instead — he’ll do anything she asks of him right now.

“Are those for me?” She asks, sliding down his front when he lowers her until her feet touch the ground at the foot of her bed. She had managed to flip the light switch as he carried her through the doorway, and he can properly see her now. She’s so small standing in front of him without her heels, kicked off somewhere in the hallway with two equal thunks as they hit the floor.

“What?” He asks, catching his breath, and genuinely confused.

“The flowers on your desk?” She explains, pushing his open shirt off his shoulders and watching his face as it falls to the floor. “Are they for me?”

He has to cup her face in his hands again, like his thumbs are magnets to her cheeks. “Yes, I picked them up earlier. I’m sorry I forgot about them.” He can’t stop staring at her mouth, watching her lips move and needing them against his.

“You remembered,” she’s murmuring, before he’s crushing his mouth to hers again. When he kisses across her jaw and down her neck, tastes the sweat tang of her skin against his tongue, she continues, grasping his wrists in her hands. “White roses. You remembered.”

There’s such tenderness in her voice that he drags his mouth away to look down at her face. With her smeared lips and hazy eyes, she’s never looked so beautiful, so angelic.

“Of course,” he replies.

It’s her turn to drag his face down to hers, tiny hands on his jaw as his own wrap around her back, fingers searching for her zipper as she sears an other-worldly kiss against his lips.

She helps him with the clasp at the top of her zipper, both of them pushing her dress down her arms and over her hips to the floor. _He can’t believe they’re doing this._ Her hands find his belt, tugging on the front of his pants as she unclasps them and drags his zipper down. _He can’t believe they’re doing this._ His shoes and socks fly off blindly when he bends down, kicking his pants all the way to ground before he’s lifting her up again, carrying her two feet away to her bed and laying her out on top of it. _He can’t believe they’re doing this._

Her hair fans around her head like a halo when she lays back, and he hears angels. Her tongue peaks out to wet her lips, and he feels the ocean. Her chest heaves against the constraint of her black lace bra, and he sees stars. He doesn’t know where to look. Where to start.

There’s so much skin. _Everywhere_.

She leans up on her elbows and smiles softly, watching him standing there in his boxers, hesitating at the end of her bed watching her.

“ _Come here._ ”

He’s lost the upper hand here, and if he doesn’t redeem himself shortly, he’s just going to be a useless pile of mush on her bed in a few minutes. Snagging her ankle, he pulls her down the bed playfully before he lifts it up to his lips, kissing the inside of her foot softly. Her skin is so soft, smells so sweet that he could spend hours here, doing just this. All the while his eyes are locked on hers, watching the twinkle shimmering there as his lips ascend up her calf slowly, teasingly. When he reaches the skin behind her knee, his tongue darts out to taste her there and her eyes rolls back as she drops her head down to the mattress, an appreciative hum crossing her lips.

Her leg bends as he kneels on the bed, leaning over to drag his nose along the delicate skin on the inside of her thigh. When his head gets close enough for her to reach, her hands dive into his hair, his lips skimming up across her hip and belly, up and up until he’s finally hovering over her.

Those wide eyes stare back at him, the same ones from earlier in the week when they found themselves in this precarious situation on the couch.

But this time he doesn’t jump up.

No, _this time_ he grinds down, hips meeting hips as her legs wrap around his waist tightly and their breath mingles in the space between their parted lips.

“I want you so badly,” he confesses, his hands pushing her arms up, tracing along her skin until their fingers link together above her head. _Just like this._

She picks her head up to brush her lips across his, digging her heels into his backside to pull his hips in closer as her legs widen. He never wants to move. Wants her wrapped up around him like this for eternity.

“So have me.”

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

  
  
  
  
  


Her words do something to him, flipping some switch inside and releasing an energy so intense that she feels it in her own bones. When he kisses her again, it’s so deep and delicious and bruising that she feels him in her _soul_.

Hands are everywhere, shedding the remaining fabric between them in a hurry — there will be time to explore thoroughly later — and somehow she remembers they need a condom, turning over onto her belly and crawling towards her bedside table as he nibbles the skin across her lower back while she digs through the drawer.

She pushes him away when she finds one, pushing his shoulder so he lies on his back before she’s crawling into his lap, straddling him, looking down at all his hard planes and messy boyish hair as he grips her thighs. _Her_ _Archie_.

He reaches between them, between her legs for the first time to swipe a finger against her and feels how gone she is for him. “Fuck, Ronnie,” he murmurs, slipping two fingers up into her and she feels it all the way up to the top of her head.

He leaves her gasping every time he curls his fingers and she has to distract herself, looking down to see him twitching, unsurprisingly impressive _everywhere_. Her thumb swipes across the tip before she wraps her hand around him, squeezing gently before meeting his eyes.

“Is this for me, too?” There’s enough of a smile curling up her lip that he smiles back at her, and she feels her heart crack.

“All for you.”

He hits a spot inside her that makes her head fall back, the spring in her belly starting to uncoil, moaning up to the ceiling as he throbs in her hand. His thumb finds her buttons of nerves, but she can only allow him a few circles of movement before she’s pushing his hand away.

“Not yet. Please.”

There’s a flash in his eyes, a devilish one, right before he flips her over — no time for her to react before he’s spreading her legs wide and his mouth is diving down onto her.

She forgets her name. Forgets where she is. Forgets what this life is.

There’s only him. _Archie_. Building the pleasure between her legs like he knows exactly where he’s taking her and she’s at his mercy.

She’s pleading, doesn’t even know what she’s asking for as his fingers join in and her back arches up off the bed as he twists them up inside of her, tongue swiping a perfectly tortuous rhythm against her.

“Please, please, not yet,” she pants, pulling on his hair to drag his mouth up off her, wanting to wait until he’s buried deep inside her to let go.

He finally stops, giving in to her pleas and she tastes herself on his lips as his tongue dives to meet hers, everything a little hazy around the edges of her vision.

She had forgotten the condom is still clutched in her hand until he’s taking it from her, sitting back on his heels to open the wrapper hastily, and she takes the moment to breathe deeply — letting the air expand the edges of lungs and the oxygen find her brain again.

She doesn’t feel the effects of the alcohol anymore. She’s drunk on _him_ now.

He surrounds her, his chest coming down to hers, his hands finding her fingers next to her head, her legs wrapping around his waist again — and when he’s slipping into her heat, stretching her, she feels consumed completely.

There’s breath. And names. And murmurs of pleasure. There’s no time anymore. Just this building heat between them as he slides into her again and again.

It could be seconds or hours before he’s hitching her leg higher up on his hip and one of his hands sneaks down between them, finds the spot that makes her see stars, and it’s just a few more pumps of his hips before she’s tipping, on edge for so long now that the pleasure quickly crashes over and over and over again.

The buzzing in her ears is still so loud as his hips start to falter from their rhythm and no amount of pushing into his back with her heels is keeping him in time. She flips them, hands anchoring on his chest as she takes over chasing the rhythm she craves. When he sits up, he somehow slides even deeper into her as she lifts her hips again and again, her forehead falling on his as she reaches her second peak quickly and pulls him with her — he’s gasping her name into her mouth as his hips stutter pumping up against hers.

This one lasts even longer. She loses her vision, a roaring in her ears as he holds her face against his, and they ride out the waves together.

He’s hers now. And she is his.

Like they were always meant to be.

 

 

 

_. . . . ._

  
  
  
  
  


Three more condoms and two hours later as she’s finally drifting off to sleep against his chest, she feels a shift of weight on the end of the bed. Her eyes fly open as she feels it moving along the sheets next to her, a few seconds before the loud meow hits her ears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there it is. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Xx 
> 
> let me know?

**Author's Note:**

> It was really hard for me to post this - feedback is SO VERY NEEDED.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Vik for helping me during my struggle through it. And fallon for the ideas! And thanks to my other Varchie girls! Hope you caught on to all the Easter eggs.
> 
> Xx


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